


play to win

by venvephe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Smut, Humor, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Pining, Rimming, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-26 15:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: “I always believe you can get it in, Jamie Benn.”“Dude,” Jamie’s giggle is a little higher pitched than usual, a little thready.  “Are you- ”“I believe in you so much,” he continues, shuffling a half-step closer so that their arms are pressed together, a line of heat from shoulder to wrist, “that I’ll give you anadvanced rewardfor the goal you’re gonna get in two days.”Jamie swears something beautiful when, just like that, Tyler slides to his knees.Or: it's a dangerous game to play, when sexual superstitions become habit, become falling in love with your best friend and captain.





	play to win

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is me back on my bullshit. I swear to god this whole thing started _before_ the yellow laces.
> 
> This is my fill for the "Superstitions" square on the Bennguin Trope Bingo from back in October, which ended up being what I wrote for about 80% of National Novel Writing Month this November! "I'll just write this sex scene until I can figure out what's going on with my main NaNo idea," I said on, like, November 5th. Here we are, nearly FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS and five - six? - sex scenes later. Famous last words, eh?
> 
> All my love to the fam: Lina, Logan, Meg and Sarah, who were fantastic cheerleaders, proofreaders and betas as this thing took on a life of its own. Special thanks to Sarah - without her loving and yelling at my nearly every night in November and since then, this story wouldn't be what it is. Thank you for your pulse-checks and egging me on, and convincing me that the story was going in a good direction night after night. And also for reminding me that no, there's no such thing as too much smut.
> 
> Also, if the actual superstition about the yellow laces came about because the universe knew I was writing this story, #sorrynotsorry, Stars friends! That was fun while it lasted.
> 
> This fic is my (late?) Christmas gift to the Bennguin fandom. I don't think anyone specifically asked for this much smut, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

It starts out like this:

They lose. And it stings.

There aren’t really any losses that _don’t_ sting, not so soon into the season. It’s early days yet - who knows how the rest of the year will pan out for anyone, at this point - but that doesn’t make it suck less. They’re still coming together as a team, haven’t quite built up a callus to losses like this.

Tyler doesn’t kick his stall in the locker room out of frustration, but it’s a close thing.

Jamie’s in no better shape; he’s got that hard-jawed thing going on, mouthguard out the side of his lips but clenched between his teeth, tension locked in the stiff line of his shoulders. He’s sweating from his last shift - they all are, determined as they were to leave it all on the ice. It still hadn’t been enough.

There’s not a lot of chatter in the locker room, though Jamie does his best to dole out encouragement where it’s needed - to Pitlick, who’s picking up minutes like nobody’s business, and Klinger and Honka, Rads and Shorsey and Bishop. The heavy echo of _next time, next time_ is already ringing in everyone’s ears.

He’s putting on a good face for the team, like a great Captain does, but Tyler can see it in Jamie’s eyes. He’ll make his rounds, make sure the boys hear what they need to hear from him, but they’ll expect him to make an appearance to the press before he leaves. His number’s scrawled on the whiteboard, at the top of the list for the press. But standing in the ring of microphones, giving reasons for their play tonight and sound bites about their next game - that’s the last thing Jamie wants to do right now.

He’ll do it anyways, Tyler knows. Because Jamie’s the best like that.

It’s easy, then and there, for Tyler to make up his mind: they’re getting drunk tonight. They _aren’t_ going to talk about hockey. And he’s going to make Jamie Benn smile.

That, at least, he could count as a win.

So Tyler showers, changes, lingers in the locker room as Jamie finishes up and does the presser. He’s as sweaty and wide-eyed as always, giving soft answers and looking just about as tired as Tyler feels. Listening to his replies only further cements the decision in Tyler’s mind: they’re going to win next time, but right now he’s gonna do something to make sure Jamie’s night doesn’t end as shitty as the game did.

Jamie follows easily when Tyler jerks his head towards the door, once he’s done and has his gear bag slung over his shoulder. It’s just the two of them left, shuffling down the now-quiet halls and out into the garage.

“My place,” Tyler says decisively, giving Jamie a wry smile when he raises his eyebrows. “Beer.”

“Okay,” Jamie sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, through the layer of exhaustion. “I see what you’re trying to do.”

Their steps slow as they near Tyler’s truck - Jamie’s parked a few spots to the left, and Tyler doesn’t hesitate to weave around him to block his path and herd Jamie in the _right_ direction. Which is to say, towards Tyler’s passenger side door. “Oh? And what’s that, eh? You gonna allow it to go without a penalty?”

Jamie snorts, but he’s softened from the loss and the late hour, and - if Tyler flatters himself - the presence of his super awesome and supportive best bro. “I’ll allow it,” he concedes, “if there’s at least some gatorade after the beer.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tyler pumps his fist dramatically, which earns him Jamie’s rolled eyes, but whatever. Tyler can be ridiculous to keep the mood up, if that’s what Jamie needs. “Like there won’t be gatorade _anyways,_ Chubbs. Haven’t you seen the state of my refrigerator lately?”

“True,” Jamie concedes, and lets Tyler nudge him in the shoulder until he pivots and goes for the other side of Tyler’s truck. _Score._ “What’s even in it these days, besides gatorade?”

“Beer,” Tyler says honestly - and at that, at least, Jamie chuckles.

 

The ride over is a peaceful, companionable kind of quiet; Tyler doesn’t turn up the radio, so the music is just pleasant background noise against the late-night quiet of Dallas’s streets. Jamie’s arms are crossed but his shoulders are unwinding, little by little, as he watches the streetlights go by. Tyler almost wants to reach over and cup a hand around the back of his neck, press with his fingers and ease the tension he knows is brewing under Jamie’s skin. A night of just the two of them, a few beers and a brainless movie should do the trick.

The dogs greet them with delight when they walk through the door, tails thumping against their thighs and knocking against the walls - and that makes Jamie nearly smile, too. He drops to his knees to receive their doggy kisses and Tyler melts a little. Yeah, this was a good idea. All of this is good for Jamie, good for the both of them after a loss. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?

“All right, all right,” Jamie shoos off Gerry, who in his puppyish energy keeps snapping at the brim of Jamie’s backwards snapback to try and tug it off. “Easy now, boys. Your dad has promised me a beer.”

Tyler smirks and stands, wiping his hands on his thighs. “That I did,” he says, and offers Jamie his hand to pull him up. The moment of contact is brief, and then all six-foot-plus of Jamie is sharing his space. He’s warm, radiating heat from a few inches away, smelling clean and damp from the showers.

“Well?” Jamie raises an eyebrow, when he doesn’t immediately pull away. Tyler shakes his head, trying to clear it. Maybe the game tired him out more than he thought, because for a flash of a second he’d thought-

“Beer,” he says, gesturing for Jamie to follow him into the kitchen. “Two comin’ right up.”

If there’s one thing Texas has a lot of, it’s good brews. Jamie fiddles with the stereo as Tyler fetches two bottles from the fridge and fishes around for a bottle opener. By the time he’s got it in hand, Jamie’s put something upbeat and indie on low, something Tyler recognizes from, like, the year 2000. It’s good, though, and he can go with the tone it sets - lowkey but in a good way, which means he and Jamie are thinking along the same lines.

It wouldn’t be the first time Tyler thought that maybe there was some kind of subconscious telepathic bond between the two of them. They have amazing chemistry on the ice, after all. Always have.

He slides the beer across the counter and it slaps wetly into Jamie’s palm, and they exchange small smiles. _Getting there,_ Tyler thinks, and takes a big swig of his beer.

“Next game,” he says, wiping his hand across the back of his mouth, “I’m gonna get you a goal, Bennie.”

“That so, eh?” Jamie leans against the counter, forearms braced in front of him as he picks at the label on the bottle. He’s not tense, not exactly; there’s a hesitation in the set of his jaw, though, and with the beer starting to curl warmly in Tyler’s stomach, that’s not acceptable.

“I’m gonna make it happen,” he insists, and Jamie’s eyes snap up to his. “You just gotta be ready for it - I’ll set you up and we’ll make sweet, sweet love to that net.”

Jamie rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh, sitting upright so he can lift his beer to his lips. Tyler has to work to pull his eyes away from the line of Jamie’s throat, suddenly. “Sure, Seggy. If you say so.”

“I do say so,” he replies, raising an eyebrow at his captain’s sarcasm. He won’t stand for any self-deprecation from Jamie tonight; he’s too good of a hockey player to let this loss get under his skin. “What, you think you can’t score with me?”

“ _Tyler,”_ Jamie’s flushing - either from the beer or the sex jokes - or both, Tyler can’t quite tell. The alcohol’s just starting to give him that fuzzy, warm-edged feeling, on the way to buzzed even though it hasn’t really been that much. Between that and the grin that’s spreading on Jamie’s lips, Tyler has the confidence to sidle around the counter, lean up against it with the bottle dangling between his fingers. He tilts in Jamie’s direction, their elbows only inches apart, side by side.

“I have every confidence in you, Captain,” Tyler says, and somehow it doesn’t come out quite as funny and ridiculous as he meant it. His voice is a little raspy from all the shouting during the game, maybe a little too earnest. Well, it’s true, in any case. With or without his help, Jamie’s a force to be reckoned with on the ice.

Jamie half-shrugs; there’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Tyler knocks his shoulder with his own until it’s a full-blown grin again. “Could’ve used some of that scoring tonight,” he says after a moment, and Tyler scoffs.

“Forget about tonight,” he waves the thought away, though the motion spills some beer onto his hand - which he immediately brings to his mouth to lick away. “It’s in the past. But next time - when we play the fuckin’ Hawks, yeah? We’ll show them what the two of us can do.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, gaze flicking between Tyler’s eyes and his mouth, which. Huh. “Yeah, we will.”

Tyler lowers his hand, sets his nearly-empty beer on the counter with a quiet click. He could be reading this wrong, but... “Besides,” he continues, “The night’s young. You’re not out of scoring options yet.”

Jamie sucks in a breath, his fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle. He half-turns towards Tyler, his body angled to face him. They’re close enough that Tyler can see his throat bob when he swallows, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Seggy,” he breathes, and Tyler’s not sure if it’s a plea or a warning. Jamie bites his lip, his smile turning hesitant. “You’re- uh. You’re that much of a fan of my game?”

“Am I a fan of your game?” Tyler repeats, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “I always believe you can get it in, Jamie Benn.”

“Dude,” Jamie’s giggle is a little higher pitched than usual, a little thready. “Are you- ”

“I believe in you so much,” he continues, shuffling a half-step closer so that their arms are pressed together, a line of heat from shoulder to wrist, “that I’ll give you an _advanced reward_ for the goal you’re gonna get in two days.”

Jamie swears something beautiful when, just like that, Tyler slides to his knees.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, scrabbling for the edge of the counter, bottle forgotten. “Fuck, Tyler- ”

“Let me do this for you,” Tyler reaches for Jamie’s hips, anchors his hands there as Jamie reels a little, looking down at him with wide eyes. His jeans are soft and worn under Tyler’s fingers; Jamie’s knuckles are white where he grips the counter, face flushed down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his tee. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, though Tyler can see the jump of his pulse in the hollow of his neck. So he quirks an eyebrow, lets the corner of his mouth dimple into a smile. “ _Jamie_. Let me do this for you.”

It’s less of a question now, and something seems to unwind in Jamie’s chest as he lets out a shaky exhale, unclasping one hand from the counter to reach out, slip his fingers under Tyler’s chin and run his thumb across the seam of Tyler’s bottom lip.

Jamie’s hands are big and broad; his thumb is a nice weight on Tyler’s tongue, but it isn’t what he really wants. He glances up at Jamie through his eyelashes, hollowing his cheeks for just a moment before popping off with a wet sound and a smirk. A shudder runs down Jamie’s spine as he looks his fill - Tyler can feel it where his fingertips have started to slip up inside his shirt, pressing against the soft give of muscle at his hips. Pupils blown wide, the tell-tale swell at the front of his jeans - it makes Tyler’s mouth water, at the heat and want in Jamie’s gaze. If only he’d relax and let himself have what Tyler’s offering.

“ _Ty_ ,” Jamie’s voice breaks on the single syllable of his name, and that’s it. The thunder of his pulse is loud in his ears, and Tyler presses forward - runs his searching fingers inwards until he finds the fly of Jamie’s jeans. The button and zip give easily; the muscles in Jamie’s thighs jump and quiver under his touch as he slides his pants and boxer-briefs down in one go.

The skin under his fingers is warm, pliant to the touch; Tyler knows well how the heat lingers in muscle after a good workout and a hard-played game, but Jamie’s burning underneath him. It doesn’t help that he’s blushing, too, flushed to his ears despite all the blood heading south.

And oh, god. Tyler couldn’t have imagined a more perfect sight than Jamie’s cock, stiff and red and damp at the head already, curving in towards his belly at the apex of his thighs.

He’d look up, to make sure Jamie is okay with this, but he really can’t take his eyes off of this: the fat sweep of Jamie’s cock and the perfectly-shaped crown, how there’s already an oozy clear stream of precome smeared along the underside. He _smells_ amazing. They’d showered at the arena, but from this close he gets the fresh scent of clean skin, the deeper musk that comes with exercise, with sweat - and Jamie, something Tyler’s come to identify even if he can’t put it into words.

Saliva collects in his mouth and he licks his lips, rapt. He _has_ to get a taste.

There’s a choked-off noise above him as he leans inwards, exhaling messily through his mouth in his excitement. He noses along the underside of Jamie’s cock, exploring, letting Jamie feel the raps of his beard against the sensitive flesh. Jamie’s hand, which had been hovering by his jaw ever since he’d smeared his thumb across Tyler’s lips, comes around to gently cradle the back of his head. If he could, Tyler would lean into the touch, encourage it - but that would mean moving away from the cock in front of him, and that _definitely_ isn’t happening anytime soon.

It’s far past the point where he should have his mouth on it.

Jamie gasps at the first touch of Tyler’s tongue on his cock, a gut-punched breathlessness that makes Tyler’s own jeans tighter in response. He drags his tongue root to tip, laves the underside of the head before taking it fully into his mouth. Already there’s the salty tang of precome, overlaid on the taste of Jamie’s clean skin, and between the taste and heat and weight of Jamie on his tongue, Tyler can’t do anything but groan deep in his throat. His eyes flicker shut as he loses himself in enjoying the sensations, nostrils flaring and fingers flexing on Jamie’s hips.

He’s got a feeling that by the end of this, he’s going to be leaving red fingerprints on Jamie’s hips, along the thin silver lines of his scars.

“Oh my god,” Jamie swears above him when Tyler swirls his tongue around the tip of his cock and surges deeper, taking more of him into his mouth in a hot, wet slide. Hearing his captain come softly undone - with the flex of his fingers knitting into Tyler’s curls and the tremors that course through the meat of his thighs at a particularly good suck - it’s doing a lot for Tyler. Jamie’s not usually one to over-use obscenities, so every groaned _fuck_ that makes its way to Tyler’s ears is another course of electricity through his veins, another notch faster in the frantic pulse of his heart. He pins Jamie up with his forearm and curls his right hand around the base of his cock to steady it as he sucks it down, lips stretched around the delicious girth of it.

Fuck, he’s seen Jamie undressed so often in the locker room that the freckles on the cut of his hip, the smattering of soft hair on his upper thighs - they’re achingly familiar, for all that the rest of this is new. Tyler couldn’t have imagined how good this would feel, with Jamie’s strong thighs bracketing his shoulders and his stomach jumping when Tyler swallows him to the root, nose brushing into his pubic hair.

Jamie moans above him, hips rocking in small, shallow thrusts that he probably doesn’t realize he’s doing. Tyler moves with him, traces patterns along the underside of his cock with his tongue, his jaw starting to ache from the wide stretch. When he pulls away to swallow and lick his lips, Jamie groans at the loss of heat and contact. The sound makes Tyler grin and giggle, breathless, eyes opening to take in Jamie above him.

He looks wrecked, lips pink and swollen from worrying them between his teeth, in a vain effort to quiet the noises he can’t stop himself from making. His eyes are glassy, pupils dark and wide, blotting out any of the pleasant brown-amber Tyler’s come to know so well. When Tyler catches his gaze Jamie groans deep in his throat, chest heaving as he pants through his arousal.

Jamie looks so good like this. Tyler’s - he’s really, really into how Jamie looks, like this.

And never let it be said that Tyler isn’t good at delivering on his promises.

He grins up at Jamie, his own face feeling flushed and warm at the single-minded attention he’s receiving, pleased and enjoying himself almost as much as Jamie seems to be. Tyler presses his lips together in a smile, rubbing the head of Jamie’s clock along the width of his mouth, letting it catch - barely - on the roughness of his beard. It’s satisfying to feel the twitch and pulse of the cock in his hand, watch the reactions play out on Jamie’s face as he leans forward again. He doesn’t break eye contact as he licks and then wraps his lips around him, spreading the wetness from his mouth farther and farther down until he can swallow Jamie to the root again.

“Tyler,” Jamie moans, head falling back against his shoulder, cock hardening impossibly further in Tyler’s mouth. His hips stutter against Tyler’s hand; he’s close, Tyler can tell. He moves with purpose, invigorated by the leaking precome that coats the inside of his mouth, with the taste and feel of Jamie surrounding all of his senses. It’s dizzying, agonizingly hot; the heaviness of Jamie on his tongue, the thick veins of his cock catching on Tyler’s lips as he moves up and down, the echoing moans that fill his kitchen with Jamie’s hoarse, gravelly voice. He isn’t going to be forgetting this, not for a while.

He’s just inched his left hand into the confines of his own tight jeans when he must hit something just right, the twist of his lips or the suck to the crown of Jamie’s cock, because he meets Jamie’s eyes one last time and that’s it. The fingers in his curls tighten and hold and Jamie’s back bows as orgasm crashes through him, the whine building in his chest exploding into a wordless moan. Tyler sucks him through it, buries Jamie to the hilt so that he can swallow down his release, lick every last drop as Jamie shakes through the aftershocks. He comes down from the high slowly, limbs lethargic and slow, sweat starting to seep through the fabric of his tee.

Tyler licks the stray drops of come from his lips as he pulls away, rests his cheek against Jamie’s hip as he pants, breathless. His own cock is a hot, hard line against the heel of his palm, his hand stuffed into his pants but unmoving. He isn’t the one who just came but he’s riding a high all the same, relishing the dizzy flush that’s humming through his body, the dampness at the nape of his neck.

He’s fucking good at this, and there’s a prideful, giddy part of him that is delighted about how well that worked. Actually, pretty much all of him is delighted at how well that worked.

Blowjobs are _awesome._

With a satisfied sigh, Tyler looks up, grinning when he sees that Jamie’s finally managed to crack his eyes open and stare down at him, blinking and blushing, with his sweat-damp hair falling out of its combed-back style and into his face. His lips are parted even as his breathing slows; his cock’s softening slowly, now that he’s spent. Tyler can still taste Jamie on his tongue - now that’s something he isn’t going to forget for a long time, either.

Belatedly, he realizes his knees have started to go numb - _not a great position to get stuck in after a game,_ _Seguin_ , he thinks to himself, though who is he kidding. He loves being on his knees, even if his knees don’t love it afterward. He takes a quick inhale and uses his grip on Jamie’s hips to pull himself to his feet, swaying for a moment as his brain reorients.

Jamie steadies him as he wobbles, hands cupping Tyler’s biceps so that he doesn’t totally fall into him. Not that they can really be worried about personal space, at this point, considering where Tyler’s mouth has just been.

“That was…” Jamie starts, but can’t seem to find the words. He swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between Tyler’s. This close, their breaths are mingling together, over-warm. But it isn’t claustrophobic, it’s -

“Good, I hope,” Tyler waggles his eyebrows. “You seemed to enjoy it. Wouldn’t be a goal-worthy blowjob if it wasn’t _good_.”

“It was,” Jamie’s quick to reassure him, one hand releasing Tyler’s arm to scrub over his own face, across his mouth and the hint of stubble already darkening his jawline. “Should I- um. Do you need…?”

He’d been so wrapped up in Jamie that Tyler had almost forgotten that he’s still rockin’ a semi, fly and zip undone over the obvious bulk of his erection. “Oh,” he glances down with a wry smile; he’d love to get off, but… “Y’know, save getting me back for next time.”

Jamie blinks back at him, cheeks starting to redden again. “Next time? But- ”

“Hey, not jinxing things, but you should have all the mojo you need to score a goal next game. Between the two of us, we’re gonna make it happen,” Tyler leans in a brushes his nose against Jamie’s, keeping eye contact until Jamie’s eyelashes brush feather-light against his bare cheek. “But you never know, I might need a little luck at some point. So don’t worry about it. Tonight was about you.”

“Okay,” Jamie murmurs, exhaling a sigh. He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but the tense line of his shoulders has softened, and the crease between his eyebrows that appears when he’s worried has smoothed over. Tyler squeezes his hips where his hands still rest on them; Jamie gently squeezes back, palms warm and solid against Tyler’s arms.

And when Jamie smiles at him, hesitantly, Tyler can’t do anything but smile, too.

Goal fuckin’ achieved for tonight.

“Let’s see about that gatorade now, eh?” Tyler says, releasing Jamie and shuffling around to the other side of the counter, willing his knees to remember how to bend. Spur-of-the-moment sex is fine, but he really should know better about finding something to put under his knees. He’ll need to stretch out later if he doesn’t want to be in a world of ache tomorrow.

His throat feels pleasantly sore, lips pleasantly stretched, too - but at least he doesn’t need those to play effective hockey.

Digging through his fridge for two gatorades - blue, are there really any other colors that _matter_? - gives Jamie the time to tuck and zip himself up, and by the time Tyler turns around with two bottles in hand, he’s leaning over the counter again. It’s nearly the same pose he took not even half an hour ago, when they first got back to Tyler’s place after the game. But something’s more settled in him, now. Tyler couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, but the pinched, tense look clouding his eyes is gone. Jamie keeps his gaze trained on Tyler, rather than letting them stray around the kitchen as he goes over plays and puck-drops in his mind, examining every angle of the game they just played even as he tries to hold out a conversation. Jamie’s here, in the moment, and Tyler can tell how much he needed it.

Something warm and buoyant fills his chest at the thought that he was able to help Jamie get there, get him what he so clearly needed. And hey - if Tyler enjoyed himself too, there’s no shame in having a little fun. It’s something just for them, just between the two of them.

They sip gatorade in the comfortable quiet; Tyler strategically waits until Jamie’s mid-sip before he says, “It’s a good thing we did this after that game, rather than before it. Losing a game with come in my beard would probably be a new low for me.”

Jamie nearly chokes, but both of them are laughing by the time he splutters and recovers, wide-eyed at Tyler’s awful sense of humor. The chirping doesn’t stop from there, and they spend the rest of the evening replenishing their electrolytes and flicking bottlecaps at each other from across the kitchen. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what they needed, Tyler thinks.

And he knows they’re going to win the game tomorrow night. He’s got a good feeling about this one.

 

They play against the Hawks two nights later.

When Jamie skates over to him during warm-ups for their usual bro-bump, Tyler makes sure he lingers for a few extra seconds, flipping a puck up onto his stick and juggling it a few times before passing it to Jamie.

“Hey,” he grins, catching his eye just for a moment as Jamie flips and juggles the puck with the flat blade of his stick. “Don’t forget what I told you, eh?”

“Told me what?” Jamie rolls his eyes - and yeah, okay, if Tyler’s anything he’s a motherfucking chatterbox. He’d kept up a running stream of chirps the entire time at practice the day before, though Jamie gave as good as he got, too.

“About scoring tonight,” Tyler says, and Jamie fumbles the puck. It falls onto the ice with the wet smack of rubber and water. It’s a good thing he’s brought this up during warm-ups, because a quick flush is already blooming across Jamie’s cheeks. He adds another eyebrow-wiggle in for good measure. “You know what to do with that net.”

“You serve it up and I’ll get it the rest of the way,” Jamie replies, grinning through his blush. “Think you can do that, hotshot?”

“I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you get it in,” Tyler purrs, because he can’t resist, because he can’t stop himself - and Jamie manages a giggle, shaking his head at Tyler’s bluntness. “I know you can do it, Cap.”

And he does.

Oh boy, does he ever.

It’s a slick, clean pass, if Tyler does say so himself - a neat slice right through the legs of the nearest Hawks d-man, the puck threading through the mess of limbs to smack against the tape on Jamie’s stick. And he makes a gorgeous wrister of it, slotting through the five-hole and bouncing into the back of the net in a split-second shot that has the entire arena on its feet and roaring.

Tyler crashes into Jamie with a beaming grin, shouting praise and locking his arms around him as soon as he can weave through the red-clad bodies. The rest of the Stars on the ice join the huddle one by one, tapping helmets and grinning around the tight circle of faces. He can only hope - no, Tyler _knows_ that this is only the first celly for them tonight, heart pounding and ears ringing with _Dallas! Stars! Dallas! Stars!_ all the way back to the blue line.

He’s right, because that’s just the first period. They fucking dominate the ice.

The Hawks don’t go down without a fight, but it’s a fight the Stars win.

They spill out from the tunnel and into the locker room in a sweaty, cheering mass, smiling at each other with mouthguards hanging from their lips and helmets half-off. Tyler nearly whoops for the joy of it, for the bubbly brightness of the win filling his chest. Jamie’s goal had been followed by another from Spezza, and another from Faksa, and Jamie again in the third. Tyler himself managed to get in on the action with an assist, making sure the puck was exactly where it needed to be for a beaut of a goal that won them the game.

He probably didn’t need to mutter “Go show that net a good time, eh?” to Jamie right as they took the ice in the third period, but judging from the team’s performance, it clearly didn’t hurt.

It’s kind of a blur of everyone grinning and obnoxiously chirping each other from there, the second they get off the ice through stripping and showering and dressing again for the post-game interviews. Morale is riding high as they filter out one by one, each carrying the good cheer with them - and yeah, Tyler was totally right. The team needed the win. Jamie needed the win. It’s even clearer to him now than it was before, watching Jamie give his post-game interview, all cheek-dimpling smiles and sweaty, mumbled compliments to the rest of the team. He’s finished dressing long before Jamie is done with the presser, but he stays to watch, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“And how about those passes from Tyler Seguin?” One of the reporters asks, microphone nudging a little closer in the little ring they’ve made around him. “You seemed to be ready for everything he was giving you tonight.”

Jamie looks up just then, gaze locked on Tyler from across the room. He looks just like he always does, whenever he gives these interviews: fresh and damp and pink from a quick, hot shower, the ripped collar of his tee showing a sliver of defined collarbone and dark chest hair. He’s flushed and a little wide-eyed with the cameras in his face, strands of hair falling over his forehead because it doesn’t have a criminal amount of hair gel holding it back.

Maybe Tyler’s the only one watching this closely - or maybe he just knows Jamie the best, out of everyone in this room - but as soon as they lock eyes Jamie’s face flushes further, his blush extending from his cheeks down his neck and nearly up to his ears.

Tyler can’t hear what mumbled response he gives to the reporter, but he sure as hell knows what Jamie’s thinking about.

And hey - whether or not what they did actually gave Jamie the power he needed to score tonight ( _heh_ ) or if it was just the confidence-boosting, stress-killing rush of endorphins that helped him get there on his own, Tyler isn’t gonna to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when it means this, at the end of the night: walking out of the AAC with Jamie, side by side, grinning at each other and feeling like they’re on top of the world.

Around them the Dallas skyline is lit up victory green, and Tyler’s never seen a sight that looks so beautiful.

 

Their next game has them hitting the road, so it’s no rest for the wicked; Tyler lets himself sleep in after the victory because he deserves it, dammit, even if it means he has to haul ass on packing. At least his equipment is all reliably in one bag and he only has to worry about the other shit.

He plops into a seat next to Jamie on the plane, shrugging out of his suit-jacket and digging his phone and earbuds out of the inner pocket. It’s not a particularly long flight, but there’s no need for the unnecessary torture of formal clothing, if he can help it. Jamie’s already rolled up his shirtsleeves, fingers drumming on the armrest as he watches the rest of the guys board the plane and settle in for the trip.

The drumming doesn’t stop, even once everyone’s found a seat and they’ve been instructed to buckle up and all that. Tyler crosses his legs at the ankle, thankful for all the legroom - but he can’t seem to relax and just listen to his music, not with Jamie a ball of nerves next to him.

“You good, dude?” he asks, popping one of his earbuds out. He raises his eyebrows as Jamie glances at him and nods, returning his gaze to the porthole-window on the other side. “You, like, can’t stop fidgeting.”

“’M fine,” Jamie says, more to the window than to Tyler, which makes him roll his eyes. Jamie’s not a nervous flyer; whatever’s gotten under his skin will come out eventually, even if Tyler has to wait to hear it. So he squirms in his seat, getting as comfortable as the lap-belt will allow, and turns up the volume on his phone as the lights dim and they prepare for liftoff.

 

Tyler has to wait six hours to find out what’s eating Jamie, as it turns out.

He has a feeling something’s coming. By the end of the flight Jamie’s loosened up a little, getting out of his seat to wander the cabin and perch on Rads’s armrest to chat partway over Arizona, leaving Tyler to steal his seat as they fly over the Grand Canyon. He stops by Shoresy, too, checking in with their teammates who aren’t using the flight to catch a nap before wandering back to their row. Tyler shifts over for him easily, and Jamie gives him a muted smile - but they don’t really make much conversation the rest of the way to LA.

Jamie does, weirdly, follow Tyler out of the hotel elevator when they get to his floor, even though Tyler’s certain that the little key-card envelope tucked into Jamie’s suit jacket says two floors up. He doesn’t say anything, though, doesn’t chirp him or fight it - because there’s something dark and warm settling in his gut, and he doesn’t want to examine the feeling too closely in case his suspicions are wrong.

Tyler isn’t wrong.

He has enough time to throw his bag in the direction of the bed and turn back towards Jamie before he’s pressed back against the closed hotel door with a muffled _thunk_. Jamie’s hands are a warm weight that pins his shoulders in place, and for a few dizzying moments they’re breathing each other’s air, in each other’s space in the best of ways before Jamie’s leaning back. His fingers flex on Tyler’s biceps, putting wrinkles in the fine cloth of his suit, but it’s fine. It’s fine, for the way that Jamie’s staring at him with such certain intensity, throat working as he finds the words he wants to say.

“You got two assists during the last game,” Jamie starts. His voice has taken on a bit of that rough edge that Tyler’s only heard once before.

“Yeah,” Tyler breathes; the corner of his lips turn up into a small smile as he replays the moments in his head. “You got two goals.”

Jamie’s fingers squeeze again on the meat of Tyler’s shoulders. He’s not that much taller than Tyler, barely an inch - but between his dark eyes that are all pupil and the commanding insistence of his gaze, his attention locked on Tyler - it makes him seem a little bigger, like he takes up more space. Hell, they’re only touching at the points where Jamie’s palms and fingers are warm and wide even through the layers of his suit, but Tyler can nearly feel the tension, the way Jamie’s nearly vibrating with it.

“It was a good game,” he finally continues; Tyler licks his lips, and he catches the moment Jamie’s eyes flicker down to watch the movement, the way his nostrils flare.

Yeah, Tyler isn’t wrong. His heartbeat jumps in his chest when Jamie’s hands relax, skim down the sides of his arms before landing on his hips.

“You deserve a few goals, too,” Jamie murmurs, and it’s a good thing Tyler’s more or less pressed into a vertical surface, because his knees have never gone from flesh and bone to jelly so fast in his entire fucking _life_.

And Jamie hasn’t even gotten his pants off yet.

“It doesn’t, uh,” Tyler starts to say, and Jamie’s hands move inwards, following the line of his waistband towards his belt buckle, and _why is he still talking?_ “It doesn’t always work that way- “

“It worked for the Hawks game. It worked for me,” Jamie counters, and Tyler’s in dangerous territory, here. Of course he had wanted Jamie to feel good, to not simmer in the bad loss and let it affect his game, to have the surety and confidence to get on the ice and get to work. Jamie has all that anyways, of course. All Tyler had done is use a little beer and a little gatorade and the power of his mouth to get him there.

Heh. He’s still a little proud of that.

But the point is - “You really don’t have to,” he insists, the last word cutting out as he draws in a gasp; he’s half-chub already and Jamie chooses that moment to run the backs of his fingers across the growing bulge at the placket of his dress pants. It’s hot and getting hotter with so little space between them, and Tyler fights another gasp when his belt jangles loudly as Jamie unhitches the clasp and tugs so that it slithers in a pile at the floor.

“Let me get you a goal, Seggy,” he says softly, and Tyler hears the _I’m going to do this_ that Jamie doesn’t have to say - though now there’s a playful edge to his voice, a smirk at the corners of his mouth that he can make out in the half-light. Jamie chose today to wear the black-on-black suit and shirt, too, which makes his confidence almost predatory, now that he’s apparently made up his mind about it.

“I mean,” Tyler flounders a little, because he’s used to being soft and fond of Jamie even in situations where he shouldn’t be, but this - this single-minded sexual intensity looks almost the same as Jamie coming off the ice after a fight, and that’s really _not_ what should be getting him fully hard between his captain and a hotel room door. “I won’t say no to a future goal _or_ to a blowjob, so- ”

“So stop talking,” Jamie chuckles, and gets on his knees right there.

Tyler is going to die against this door.

Last time had been after a game, after that stinging loss, and Tyler’s plan on what to do about it hadn’t actively included giving Jamie a blowjob pretty much right up until it actually happened. But this - it’s clear now that Jamie’s quietness and fidgeting the entire flight to LA had been him thinking about this, thinking about following Tyler back to his hotel room and putting his mouth on Tyler’s cock.

Which is - really a lot to think about, so it’s a good thing that all semblance of coherent thought promptly flee his head when Jamie leans in and drags Tyler’s pants and boxer-briefs down to his knees, pressing his nose to the trail of hair below Tyler’s bellybutton to just _breathe_.

Tyler can’t help it; he sucks in a ragged breath and his dick bobs with the movement, catching the underside of Jamie’s stubbled chin. And that shouldn’t feel as good or be as endearing as it is, because Jamie’s closed eyes flicker open and he smiles, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to one side of Tyler’s happy trail and anchoring his fingers a little more firmly on the cut of Tyler’s hips. He’s grinning even has he opens his mouth and gives the head a testing, cursory lick, pressing with the flat of his tongue and shimmying a little closer for a better angle.

 _Fuck_. Jamie’s mouth is warm and wet, and he explores Tyler’s cock like - like he’s enjoying every second of getting to know it, cataloging the spots that make Tyler twitch or sigh or groan. He doesn’t realize that he’s kind of helplessly scrabbling against the door until Jamie’s chuckling again, reaching out to draw Tyler’s hand into his hair. And - yeah, fuck, that’s everything Tyler didn’t know he wanted, sifting his fingers further into the long hair along the top of Jamie’s head and tugging, just enough for Jamie to know he’s there, that he likes it.

He doesn’t want to distract Jamie from his work, after all.

It’s a special kind of agony when Jamie finally wraps his lips around Tyler’s cock and begins to slide down; Tyler’s head thunks back against the door with a heavy sound and he moans at the sensation of being enveloped in slick, wet heat. Jamie’s hand comes up to wrap around the base of his cock, and god - it feels like he’s everywhere. Heat pools low in Tyler’s gut, and he tips his head forward so that he can watch - there’s no way he’s going to miss a second of this if he can help it, no matter how brain-meltingly, eye-crossingly good it is.

But the sight nearly wrecks him, makes a heady blush spread down from his already-flushed face down his chest, his heart tripping over itself: Jamie, looking up at him through those too-long cow eyelashes of his, lips swollen and shiny and pink and cheeks hollowing just as he starts to suck.

Tyler was totally willing to give Jamie the benefit of the doubt, because even amateur, enthusiastic blowjobs are still blowjobs. It’s like pizza: even if it’s mediocre it’s still pretty good, and one of Tyler’s favorite things. But this - this is something way beyond just _good_ or _okay_. He can’t even come up with adjectives other than _amazing_ right now, because it’s all he can do to stay upright and keep up a litany of “ _Fuck_ ” and “ _Jamie_ ” as Jamie, apparently, keeps trying to suck his brain out through his dick.

That’s what it feels like, at least. He didn’t start out his road trip thinking he’d be wordless and groaning with his captain on his knees for him, but Tyler isn’t going to complain.

“I- ” Tyler cuts himself off with a moan, tangling his fingers in Jamie’s hair and tugging, just slightly, until there’s a wordless groan that he can actually _feel_ around his cock, _fuck._ “I’m going to need to be able to _walk_ after this, Jamie.”

There’s an obscenely wet pop as Jamie pulls away from him and he blinks up at Tyler, smiling. The hand still wrapped around the base of his cock starts to jack him, slowly but surely, in absence of Jamie’s mouth. “You’re already in your room, eh? You don’t need to be able to walk tonight _._ You’ve just got to be able to skate _tomorrow_.”

Tyler swallows thickly. He really can’t be asked to keep up a conversation like this, with Jamie looking up at him from his knees, every point they are connected searing and sending sparks up his spine. He still manages a smile, licking his lips and fighting the urge to groan again. “And what about scoring?”

“There’s definitely going to be scoring,” Jamie murmurs, leaning close enough again that Tyler feels the movement of his lips against his cockhead. The sensation has him seeing stars behind his eyelids, the dark heat deep in his gut winding tighter and tighter as Jamie works him closer to the edge.

This time, when Jamie swallows him down, he has to bring both hands up to cradle the back of his skull - just to have something to hold on to, flexing his fingers in the damp strands of Jamie’s hair, scratching his nails gently down to the nape where it’s shorn short, buzzed. The hot, tight pressure around his cock tightens as Jamie swallows, moaning around him and sending vibrations down his cock. So Tyler tries it again - scrapes his fingers along Jamie’s scalp, pulls the longer parts of his hair back until it’s taut and Jamie has to fight the pressure to stay right where he is. He gasps as Jamie groans louder, eyelashes fluttering as he drools a little, looks up at Tyler - looking nearly as wrecked as he feels.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tyler breathes, and the air’s punched from his lungs when Jamie’s fingers on his hips squeeze, nearly hard enough to bruise, tugging him forward like he’d let- like he wants-

 _Christ_ , like he’s giving Tyler permission to _fuck his mouth_ , and in half a second Tyler’s nearly there, teetering on the edge of orgasm and breathing harder than he ever has at bag skate.

From the way Jamie’s face pinkens even further, down his neck and disappearing into the dark collar of his dress shirt, he must be able to feel the way Tyler tenses, the way his cock thickens even more. He draws away to swallow it down one more time, wriggling his tongue against the veined underside, before raising his eyebrows meaningfully. _Your turn_. _Come on._

Tyler doesn’t need to be told twice.

He rocks his hips, fingertips flitting down to the curve of Jamie’s jaw, thumbs fitting into that soft, hollow place where it hinges and he can feel how far Jamie’s stretched around him. It’s an agonizing slow pace; sweat starting to form at the base of Tyler’s spine as he holds himself upright and resists the urge to thrust, sharp and hard, against Jamie’s tongue. No: it’s harder, but this is better, the drag of Jamie’s lips along his length, the blood-warm heat of him, the strong, wide hands bracketing his hips but not controlling him, letting Tyler set the pace -

And then Jamie’s jaw shifts under his hands, his mouth closing just enough that his teeth barely scrape the slick, sensitive shaft as he pushes inwards once more, and Tyler _ignites._

He nearly doubles over himself as he comes, hips twitching and fingers clenched in the riot he’s made of Jamie’s hair. Tyler’s ears ring with the force of his pounding heartbeat, his vision gone white behind his eyelids as he spills into Jamie’s open mouth. There’s a shout followed by a lingering, high whine - which Tyler belatedly realizes is himself as he pants, open-mouthed, coming down from the high with all the grace he can muster.

Which is to say, very little.

God, it feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears. He can’t _remember_ the last time he came so hard, from a blowjob or otherwise. Belated, Tyler unlatches his hands from Jamie’s face, moaning again as he scrubs his fingers over his eyes. Like, _what the fuck_. If he had any doubts about this being a blowjob worth getting goals for, then, well - the Kings have _no idea_ what they’re in for tomorrow night.

Tyler peeks between his fingers to look down at Jamie again - and finds his captain grinning up at him, flushed and proud in the way that only blowjob-inspired confidence can bring, wiping his liberally come-streaked chin with the back of his hand.

“ _Dude_ ,” Tyler whines, because it’s a sight so good that his dick gives a hopeful twitch from where it’s gradually softening against his stomach. _Down, boy._ “Not fair.”

Jamie laughs, eyes sparkling, and stands shakily to head for the ensuite bathroom. It’s weird how quickly the cool, air-conditioned air comes rushing back in towards Tyler’s bare skin once Jamie’s hands have fallen away. “Fair’s fair, Seggy,” he calls behind him. “That should be the trick to get you a goal, eh?”

“A goal or _three_ ,” Tyler mutters under his breath, because god damn. It’s like his body doesn’t even remember its prior stiffness from sitting for hours on end on the plane ride here. He knows it happened, of course - just like the image of Jamie looking up through his eyelashes, his fingers a brand on Tyler’s hips and pink lips a wide _o_ around his cock.

Yeah, that’s 24-karat gold spank-bank material right there.

Jamie’s looking no more subdued when he returns, though he’s tugged the wrinkles out of his suit and somewhat tamed the sex-hair Tyler gave him with his wandering fingers. He does nearly trip over his own bag, though, which he’d apparently dropped as soon as they’d gotten through the door.

Tyler laughs, a thing that still sounds kind of thready and hoarse to his own ears. He hasn’t moved an inch - not even to tuck in his spent dick or pull up his pants - and he’s half-afraid that if he steps away from the door’s structural support, he’ll fall on his ass. He’s still not sure he has _working bones_ after that.

“The Kings aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em,” he grins at Jamie, and even though his heartbeat has mostly calmed, his stomach does an odd flip-flop as Jamie smiles back, ducking his chin far enough that a single strand of damp hair falls across his forehead.

“Not a chance,” Jamie replies, and they grin at each other like that longer than they probably should.

 

It happens in a flash, in the moment between seconds, just like it always does: Klinger’s lingering behind the pack in the neutral zone while he and Jamie are in deep, scrumming for the puck, but it means that when Kopitar whips it out of Kings territory he’s there to dive in and nab it. And Klinger - beautiful, beautiful John Klingberg - threads the needle with a hell of a pass that slaps right onto Tyler’s tape.

From there it’s muscle memory - and a bit of puck luck - to scoop the puck with the flat blade of his stick and whip it over Quick’s shoulder and into the back of the net.

Nothing sounds so sweet as another team’s goal horn blaring for you.

The goal celly gets messy - mostly because they’re all shouting at each other, and Tyler makes sure Klinger gets his fair share of the pile-on for the assist. But Jamie’s there, and undeniable heat and weight pressing into his side, arm tucked against Tyler’s lower back as the whole knot of them slides a little down the ice from their combined momentum. His smile is as wide as anyone else’s but when they lock eyes it tilts up at the corner, a big of a smirk, and Tyler’s powerless against the little thrill that runs up his spine.

They keep stealing glances at each other once they’re side by side at the end of their shift, trying to watch the play in front of them and looking up at the jumbotron. Tyler’s a little relieved, a little delighted that he keeps catching Jamie watching _him_ as much as he’s staring at Jamie.

It’s another period and a half of playing as hard as they can before Jamie snags the puck away from the Kings and dumps it into the net so easily, it looks like they’re running drills.

Tyler maybe gets a bit too much speed going as he knocks into Jamie for the celly, but that’s okay. They’re winning - they _keep_ winning, and his mind has already started to wander down the path of what will happen next.

They get the W in regulation and the locker room is all smiles. The ridiculous cowboy hat makes an appearance - stuffed into someone’s bag for the road trip, to Klingberg’s rueful delight - and it’s by mutual agreement that the team heads out to a bar together, spilling out into the muggy LA evening.

They go to one of those bars that the city has a million of, something that’s trying to be clever and all the drink names are some kind of pun. Tyler takes off his suit jacket as soon as he can - it’s warm inside, “cool” weather in LA is nothing compared to fall and winter back home - and he pushes through the throng of players at the bar to order a drink, beaming at the claps on the back and shouts about his sexy AF goal.

“What’s your secret, eh?” Shoresey elbows him as he reaches across the bar for the beer the bartender hands over, the foamy head spilling a little in his enthusiasm. “That’s two assists and a goal in two games! Three points, man!”

“Guess I’m just hitting a good streak,” Tyler smirks and leans against the bar, basking in the natural high of winning and being out with the guys. It feels perfect, like everything’s exactly how it should be; a few of the vets are already holding court at a high-top in the corner, rearranging the coasters and arguing about - something. Some of the newer and younger guys are here at the bar, scoping out the crowd for potential pickups and ordering their celebratory beers. Johns and Ritchie are on barstools to Tyler’s right, chirping already, and Jamie-

Tyler cranes around to try to catch sight of Jamie through the crowd of hockey players - not easy, considering so many of them top out over six feet - but the arrival of his drink interrupts his thoughts.

“Some good streak,” Devin says appreciatively, clapping Tyler on the shoulder. “Better keep it up in Anaheim and San Jose.”

“We’ll definitely need it in San Jose,” Methot agrees, flashing Tyler a grin as he flags down the bartender a few seats over. “They’ve been playing a good game this season.”

“I’ll keep serving ‘em up if the captain keeps giving it to me,” Tyler shrugs and grins, taking a sip of his beer. It’s a moment before he replays his words back in his mind - but the guys don’t need that long. Shoresy’s smile is so wide it nearly splits his face, and Johns and Ritchie look up from their drinks to hoot a few times. It doesn’t catch on, thankfully, but Tyler’s ears turn pink and he recovers by taking an even bigger swig from his glass.

“I hope he _does,”_ Shoresy says genuinely, shaking his head and giggling, “especially if it keeps us winning! Make sure Chubbs treats you right. _Damn -_ I wish the captain was that good to me!”

“He would, but you’re too much of a _bad boy_ for him,” Tyler laughs, and takes the opportunity to scruff his hand through the short buzz of Devin’s hair - and that’s enough to set all of them off laughing again, chirping Devin for his ridiculous responses to Mark’s interview questions. Tyler spends the rest of the time it takes to finish his first beer there at the counter, face warm and flushed and a pleasant bubbliness in his chest. There’s nothing like being surrounded by teammates, everyone in the good spirits that come with a win, good-natured ribbing each other as they gossip like only hockey players can.

Tyler leaves Devin and the boys at the bar for a while to buy a congratulatory drink for Klinger, hanging out at the high-top with Faksa and Spezza and Rous for a while, until his face hurts from smiling too much and it’s getting a little hard to stay upright, even with his arm looped around John’s shoulders. He’s lost track of time - kinda lost track of his drinks, too, though it’s the kind of night where it’s fine to keep the beer flowing. But it isn’t too long after that when there’s a broad palm settling at the base of his spine, fingers shifting over the hollow of his lower back. Tyler shivers, even in the pressing heat of the bar, and he turns his head just in time to catch the quirk of Jamie’s smile as he comes around Tyler’s side to join the group.

“Look who’s finally joining us,” Bishop chirps, “Don’t tell me we’re more interesting than that blonde you were talking to.”

“ _She_ didn’t score any pretty goals against the Kings tonight,” Jamie laughs, and there’s a chorus of cheers as they clink their glasses together, beer foaming and sloshing - though they manage not to spill, which is quite a feat now that they’re a few drinks in.

Well, they _are_ hockey players, after all. They’re a relatively coordinated bunch.

Tyler smacks his lips as he swallows the last of his beer, licking away the foam that clings to his moustache. He barely resists the urge to flutter his eyelashes in Jamie’s direction. “You thought that goal was pretty?”

“Sure,” Jamie replies, “but Klinger did all the hard work.”

The boys snicker, and Tyler rolls his eyes. “Not all of us can score unassisted, eh?”

“Speaking of scoring unassisted,” Rous jerks his head towards the other end of the bar, mouth upturned in a smirk. “You aren’t going to take the lady home?”

Something twists in Tyler’s gut as Jamie glances over his shoulder, back in the direction that he came. It’s true, Tyler hadn’t seen him for a while, but he thought that maybe - well, if Jamie wants to pick up, that’s his business. He’s not one to judge - he’s picked up plenty of times in these after-game celebrations, at home and on the road. But an uncomfortable weight settles in his gut at the idea of Jamie taking some pretty, nameless California girl back to his hotel room. He frowns at his empty glass and the lacy dregs of beer that cling to the sides of it; it’s not normal for something like this to bother him. Maybe it’s because he’d been hoping that Jamie -

“Nah,” Jamie waves off the question, scratching along the line of his jaw. He’s doing that thing he doesn’t know that he’s doing, when he has to give an answer to the press that’s only partly the truth. He stares off aimlessly, eyes scanning the rest of the bar, looking anywhere but Antoine as he replies. “This is a night about celebrating together - I’m not gonna leave you numb-nuts here without supervision.”

“ _There’s_ the captain in him coming out,” Tyler grins.

“Well if you’re going to _supervise_ , Captain, the least you can do is have a beer with your As,” Radek says, flagging down a waitress, and they spend the rest of the time it takes to get another round of drinks heckling Jamie on his refusal to let go of his responsibilities and have fun.

Tyler pointedly doesn’t examine how the ball of tension in his chest loosens when Jamie spends the rest of the night by his side.

 

Beer - and other spirits - tend to have a couple predictable effect on Tyler: they make him feel warm and pliant, flexible and open to suggestion. Pretty much universally, alcohol reduces his ability for volume control. It also, on occasion, makes him as insistent and stubborn as a mule.

Tonight, four beers plus two really LA-sunset-orange somethings leave him with this thought tangled up and stuck in his mind: he knows what he wants. He wants Jamie Benn’s cock in his mouth.

And there’s the rub: he hasn’t had so many drinks that he’ll says so out loud in present company - small miracles, he thinks, and nearly starts giggling - but, like, _really._ He needs to get Jamie’s dick all up in this. It’s Jamie’s turn, after all, and if anyone’s going to be showing him a good time for the goal he scored tonight, it’s going to be Tyler.

But they linger at the bar for a long time. It’s really nice, actually, and they haven’t had a win on the road in long enough that everyone’s staying out a little later than they usually would. They only have practice tomorrow, since they’re basically just a hop-skip from Anaheim. They’re owed a little bit of fun after the hard-earned games they’ve had.

So Tyler waits, sipping his drink and laughing along with everyone, chirping as good as he gets. There’s no denying the crackling tension between him and Jamie, every time their bare elbows touch or their thighs press together underneath the overgrown cluster of tables they’ve pulled together in this corner of the bar. At some point Jamie stretches and lays his arm along the back of Tyler’s chair, and he has to work not to lean back into him. Jamie radiates heat, and between his proximity and the stubborn half-chub his dick’s been rockin’ since drink three, Tyler is _sweating_ through his tee at his lower back. Thankfully the flush across his cheeks can be attributed to the alcohol, but Tyler knows it’s because his mind keeps slipping out of the conversation and into more dangerous territory.

It’s when Jamie leans over to grab a fresh bottle of beer and puts one wide hand on Tyler’s upper thigh to balance himself that Tyler’s patience snaps. He makes a mumbling excuse as he slides off his stool and away from the table, the press of Jamie’s palm a searing handprint he can still feel on his skin. It takes him a moment to blink away the haze of alcohol and steady himself on his feet - he feels loose-limbed for all that his heart won’t give up its incessant, insistent rhythm in his chest - and he strides away through the crowd at the bar. Once he’s sure that the table of Stars can’t see him anymore, he makes a beeline for the side-entrance into the alley outside.

 _God._ Tyler leans against the brick side of the building, exhaling unsteadily. It’s not so cold in LA that he can see his breath, but the cool press of the stone at his back is grounding against the whirl of thoughts in his brain. Fuck, forget the beers - it’s been a long time since Tyler’s been this intoxicated on a _person,_ basking in their proximity and itching to get his hands on their _skin,_ going crazy with the memories of the last times they’d _-_

“Hey,” Jamie leans out of the open door, stepping through and letting it close gently behind him when he spots Tyler’s silhouette. “You doing okay? You kinda ran out of there, was it something I- ”

“No, no,” Tyler flaps a hand in Jamie’s direction, waving away whatever he was going to apologize for. He manages to tilt his head, lock eyes with Jamie as he reaches up and pushes a hand through his sweaty curls. For all that coming out here had started to tame the simmering heat in his gut, something under Tyler’s skin sparks again in Jamie’s presence. “More like - um. Needed some air so I didn’t...do anything I regretted.”

Jamie licks his lips as he takes a cautious step closer. There’s a neon sign casting blue light down on them like a second sun, and it catches on Jamie’s skin where it glistens a little with sweat.

Tyler wants to lick him.

“Oh,” Jamie finally says, throat bobbing as he swallows. His eyes are dark here in the half-light, darker than they were in the bar.

“To you,” Tyler clarifies, and watches with growing anticipation as that makes Jamie’s pupils dilate even further, his fingers flexing at his sides like he _wants_ , like he wants as much as Tyler wants.

“Yeah?” he asks, some punched-out kind of breathless that Tyler would _really_ get used to, because it makes Jamie’s voice sound like liquid sex, all rough-around-the-edges with desire.

Tyler’s head bobs against the brick as he nods, cracking a smirk. Jamie’s almost close enough to reach out and touch, and he can barely breathe for how much he wants this. “Yeah - but not like, something I regretted because it’s you, but ‘cuz I really don’t want to have an audience for when I get my mouth on your cock again, and- ”

“ _Christ,_ Ty,” Jamie swears with a groan. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about this whole time? _You_ were the one who made that shot over Quick’s shoulder, so fast that he didn’t even see it- ”

“Your third period goal was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Tyler says, all drunken honesty, because it’s true - no matter how much the words make his face heat. In the dim, blue light, Jamie looks as flushed and warm as Tyler feels. He smirks crookedly, stretching against the wall in a way that deliberately makes his shirt ride up and pushes his hips out invitingly. “C’mon, Jamie - anybody would deserve a reward for a game-winning-goal. It’s my gift to give.”

“Yeah - yeah,” Jamie runs a hand through his hair, damp strands sticking together at his nape. His eyes are a little wide and his nostrils flare as Tyler shoves away from the wall and steps closer, but he doesn’t move away. When Tyler licks his lips, Jamie doesn’t even try to stop himself from looking. “Let’s get out of here.”

Tyler smirks. They get out of here.

 

It’s all thinly-veiled, crepe-paper tension between them on the cab ride back to the hotel and the agonizing wait that is the elevator up to Jamie’s room. The haze of beer is starting to recede from the front of Tyler’s mind, replaced instead with the pounding of his heart in his throat. He keeps glancing at Jamie in their mirrored reflections in the elevator’s walls - and catching Jamie looking at him. That, at least, isn’t too different from how it was during the game, and when Tyler grins and Jamie gives him a small smile in return, it settles some of the wound-up tension sitting on the width of his shoulders.

This is still _Jamie._ This is still _fun._ That doesn’t have to change now that they keep winning - and maybe it’s not a big deal, that wanting this with Jamie is starting to creep beyond the edges of this system that they’ve set up for themselves.

He’ll examine it later, Tyler thinks, and shoves the thought to the back of his mind as the elevator dings for their floor. It’s quiet - deserted, most of the team still out having fun - and when the room door closes with a quiet click behind them, something immediately releases, unwinds from Tyler’s chest.

It’s just the two of them. He knows how to do just the two of them.

They’ve done the pressed-up-against-things twice now, and while it’s certainly hot to be held against a vertical surface while having his captain between his thighs, Tyler wants something different tonight. He strides into the room and tosses his snapback onto the nearest flat surface, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed as he tugs at the hem of his t-shirt and looks back at Jamie expectantly. The fizzy haze of alcohol has worn off, but that’s done nothing to calm the surge of blood in his veins or the tempo of his heart.

Hell, his heart doesn’t have a chance once Jamie takes three big strides over to stand between his parted knees.

There’s a moment where he clearly doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, and they flutter a bit at his sides before he settles them on Tyler’s shoulders, a warm weight that makes a shiver run down Tyler’s spine. He grins up at Jamie, waggling his eyebrows as his fingers flirt with the soft hem of his shirt - which makes Jamie laugh, like it was supposed to. Sexual tension is all well and good, but sex is supposed to be fun, and if they don’t laugh and relax around each other at least a _little_ Tyler’s going to bust a nut the second he gets his mouth on Jamie.

“Don’t tease,” Jamie says, nodding down to where Tyler’s revealing not even a half-inch of toned skin. “Everybody knows you like to be naked as much as you can, Seggy.”

Tyler’s smirk catches the corner of his mouth, and he chuckles as he drags his tee further up his chest. “Why stay clothed when you could show this body off, eh? I don’t see you complaining.”

Jamie swallows thickly and doesn’t resist looking down at his stomach and chest as they’re revealed, and Tyler’s giggle gets lost in the fabric as he pulls his shirt finally up and off, flinging it backwards and not paying attention to where it lands. It’s gratifying to watch the flush on Jamie’s face spread once his skin is revealed to the cool air of the room, pink working its way down his neck and near to the tips of his ears. It’s clearly a fight, too, for him to keep his focus on Tyler’s face.

“Definitely not complaining,” he says hoarsely, and when his hands find their place on Tyler’s shoulders again, the contact is hot, electric. “So - a real bed this time?”

“Figured my old-man knees could use a break,” Tyler jokes, toeing off his shoes so that he can slide backwards toward the headboard, “and our celly for tonight is definitely gonna be something best done horizontal. C’mon, you too.”

At his prompting, Jamie tugs his shirt up and off, pausing only momentarily to comb his hair out of his face - which is futile, Tyler knows, because he’s going to do his damned best to have his hands in Jamie’s hair as much as he possibly can. Jamie must see something of the thought on his face, because he rolls his eyes before following him and crawling onto the bed. “Celly? That’s what you wanna call it?”

“It’s a celebration,” Tyler raises an eyebrow, “of the beautiful goals we got tonight. I could always call it _blowing Jamie’s brains out_ , since that is what’s going to happen, if I get my way.”

From this close Tyler gets a great view of Jamie’s eyes darkening at his words, and he pauses in place for a moment as his brain parses the image. _Fuck yes_. There’s something about the intensity in Jamie’s face when they do this, when Tyler is the sole focus of Jamie’s attention, that sets his blood on fire like nothing else.

Jamie licks his lips, considering. “And what if I want to blow _you_?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tyler bites his lip, unsure if he wants to grin or groan, because - _god_ , there’s no way it should be legal for words like that to come out of Jamie Benn’s mouth. “You can do whatever you want with me, Jesus. But I’m sure we can come up with a compromise.”

Jamie mostly looks amused at his shit-eating grin, but _oh ye of little faith,_ Tyler thinks. This is going to be fun.

“Take off your pants,” he says, and that does make Jamie laugh outright, this time. He sits back on his heels, scratching a hand through the short hair at the nape of his neck, and Tyler takes an opportunity when he sees one. There’s maybe two feet of space between them - it’s a king bed, when you’re six foot of hockey player, _all_ your beds are king beds - and with Jamie out of accidental-kicking range, Tyler plants his feet on the mattress to lift his hips, fingers going to the fly and belt of his pants.

“No, wait- ” Jamie reaches out, looking almost surprised at himself for interrupting. “Just- let me?”

It’s all Tyler can do to nod around the sudden tightness in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. Jamie shuffles closer, kneeling once he’s between Tyler’s thighs so that he can use his hands. Head bent in concentration, fingers working at the double-button at the top of Tyler’s jeans and the stubborn zip - Tyler has never hated a zipper more in his fucking _life_ \- he can smell the lingering trace of Jamie’s shampoo from his post-game shower, the tang of beer and sweat from the bar. And, of course, they’re close enough that Jamie’s radiating a heat like a furnace, hot to the touch where his fingertips skim the pale skin at his hips.

He should probably be a little embarrassed at how quickly he’s gone from half-hard to thick and full and tenting out his boxer-briefs, but Tyler really can’t think beyond watching Jamie’s big hands slide his jeans from his hips in something like reverence, careful not to let the denim catch on the hard line of his cock. Jamie licks his lips again and there’s no way it’s intentional, that it’s a conscious thing, but it makes Tyler’s cock twitch where it’s trapped against his stomach. Watching Jamie’s mouth is probably bad for his blood pressure - his lips are already pink and shiny, and when Jamie looks up to catch his eye and just smile, god, that dimple could do Tyler in.

Not to mention the fact that he knows what that mouth looks like stretched around his dick, now.

“ _Jamie_ ,” he whines, hips shifting as he helps kick his jeans the rest of the way off - he doesn’t want anything between him and Jamie’s skin tonight. That, and he wants to be able to spread as legs as far as he fucking wants to. Jamie chuckles, shifting closer to where Tyler’s propped up against the headboard. He gets his hands underneath Tyler’s thighs, wide palms spanning _so much_ of his skin, fuck, Tyler’s never gonna get over how big Jamie’s hands feel on his body - and his arms flex as he tugs, gently. It makes Tyler slide down the bed, until his back is nearly flat, and Jamie nods with satisfaction.

Tyler huffs a little, amused. “What happened to the _blow Jamie’s brains out_ plan?” he chuckles, anticipation bubbling under his skin as he watches Jamie move. Something warm and heavy settles in his gut when Jamie lowers himself to the bed, arranging Tyler’s thighs over his broad shoulders and exhaling, warm and damp, inches from his cloth-covered cock.

“Compromise,” Jamie murmurs, and noses along Tyler’s shaft through his tented boxer-briefs. Tyler gasps at the sensation, resisting the urge to writhe and push his hips up into Jamie’s face. When Jamie chuckles, nuzzling into Tyler’s cock with more confidence, he can _feel_ the laughter against the underside of his cock. _Christ_ , this is more than he could have wished for, two hours ago in the back of a stuffy LA bar.

He’s swearing out loud by the time Jamie tugs down his waistband just enough to reveal the head of his cock, a damp spot darkening his boxer-briefs where he’s been leaking smears of precome. Jamie doesn’t hesitate; Tyler gets barely a second to process Jamie’s mouth falling open before he’s sliding down the length of his cock, lip wet and pink and cheeks hollow as he drops his jaw to accommodate more. His groan echoes in the relative quiet of the room, hands finding their way into the strands of Jamie’s hair, fingers petting through the length of it and nails scraping gently down Jamie’s scalp. Tyler can’t stop moving, can’t stop the flex of his fingers or the tensing of his thighs; it’s all he can do not to rock up into Jamie’s mouth, to seek his pleasure in the hot, wet space between his lips.

Jamie pants when he pulls away, the bed dipping as he adjusts his position - he throws an arm over Tyler’s hips to pin him thoroughly in place, and Tyler whines at the sensation. It’s good, it’s _so good_ , to have the weight of Jamie’s arm over him, to feel the muscles working to keep him still and see Jamie’s tattoos twitch with his subtle movements. Every time their eyes meet it feels like his heart trips over itself in his chest, Jamie’s eyes sparkling with some kind of delight at seeing Tyler in this state, in how clear it is that every single thing he does is driving Tyler crazy. The next time he swallows him down, Jamie flicks his tongue along the ridged underside of his cockhead, lets his teeth drag gently over the shaft, and _god_. He isn’t going to last under this kind of onslaught.

It’s a struggle to sit up, both because it requires brainpower that he doesn’t have _and_ coordination that’s severely hampered by the sight of Jamie between his thighs. He’s all big eyes and soft hair and sweat breaking out on his temples already - not to mention his bare chest and wide shoulders, and how good Tyler’s legs look thrown over them, and - _fuck_ , right.

“Hey, hey,” Tyler manages to groan, winching himself up onto one elbow. It’s almost dizzying, to see Jamie like this for a second time. It’s even better than the _first_ time. “’M not gonna last, can you - can we- ”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Jamie pants, breathless. He wipes at the wetness around his mouth as he sits up, and Tyler’s cock pulses again, precome oozing from the tip.

Jamie’s going to be the death of him.

But it’s gratifying to see the bulky outline of Jamie’s hard-on straining against his pants, and the way his blush has worked its way partway down his chest now, too. The fine, dark hairs along his sternum are slicked down with sweat, just like how he looks at the end of a hard skate or during his post-game interviews, and - and Tyler can’t think for a second, for the force of how much he wants to get his mouth on Jamie.

“You look so good,” he blurts, and the honest smile Jamie gives him has Tyler nearly breathless, too. But he recovers enough to sit up a little more, hands waving vaguely between them. “Can you, like - and then I’ll- ”

“Seggy,” Jamie laughs, catching one of his hands and giving his wrist a comforting squeeze. “Use your words or just show me.” He spreads his arms at his sides, like he’s content to be arranged. It’s the perfect opportunity to take in the length of his body, the contrast between the ink of Jamie’s tattoos and the delightful pink of his blush, how his jeans strain against the powerful bulk of his thighs. There’s still a lingering shine on his bottom lip, and just knowing where it came from twists something delicious and dark in Tyler’s gut.

Yeah. Mid-sex is a good look on Jamie, and if he’s willing to be moved, Tyler is going to _touch_.

Jamie goes willingly, when Tyler paws at his shoulder, bends and stretches into the warm spot Tyler’s vacated. Admittedly, he’s a little less romantic and refined in removing Jamie’s pants and underwear - but his eagerness must be some kind of endearing, because Jamie just grins the entire time through it, until he’s naked and relaxed, sprawled over the duvet and looking completely edible.

And, well, _there’s_ a thought Tyler doesn’t need to have twice. He knows exactly what he wants to do.

It takes a quick second of shifting around and careful knee placement - nothing kills the mood like a jab in the crotch - before Tyler gets where he wants. Jamie watches him, eyebrow quirked in amusement. But he catches on pretty quickly to what Tyler’s got in mind, and the second he does he’s swearing under his breath, running a hand down his face and resting it over his mouth as he exhales messily. Tyler beams at him from his new position, propping his chin up with his hand and wiggling his toes against Jamie’s bare shoulder.

“I did say this celly would work best horizontal,” he grins, and reaches out for Jamie’s hip to tug at him, until he shifts to lie so they’re facing each other.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jamie says, but his fingertips are already creeping in Tyler’s direction, skimming up his thigh. He doesn’t have a good response to that; with Jamie’s cock right in front of his face, there’s really only one thing he can do.

The skin at Jamie’s hips is soft under his hands, and he thumbs over the pale, raised line of Jamie’s scar before diving closer, leaving a kiss against the mark. Above him, Jamie makes a soft sound, the fingers tracing up Tyler’s thighs flexing to squeeze in acknowledgment. Tyler exhales a pleased sigh, smirking when Jamie’s bare skin twitches and goosebumps raise along the pale skin of his upper thighs. _Well_. If he’s a little cold, Tyler can do something about that, too.

It’s with intention that he finally leans forward, licks his lips and then slicks his mouth over the perfectly-shaped head of Jamie’s cock. It’s pink and flushed and cushiony-soft against his palate, a contrast to the solid shaft as he mouths around it, sliding deeper. Tyler swirls his tongue around the head when he draws back, gathering the precome welling at the top with a well-placed flick, the flavor of salt and skin and _Jamie_ heavy in his mouth. He knows that it won’t be long before he’s drooling, slick fluid gathering at the corners of his mouth and wetting his moustache and beard, but he can’t bring himself to care. Jamie’s making the most amazing noises above him - another moan echoes in Tyler’s ears as he hollows his cheeks and sucks, and _fuck,_ yeah, this was a good idea.

It gets even better when Jamie finally has the presence of mind to touch him, too.

The wet fingers circling his dick are a surprise, but a pleasurable one; he didn’t realize that he’d shut his eyes until he has to blink them open, eyes skimming the length of Jamie’s body until they catch on the hand he has wrapped around Tyler’s cock. Their eyes meet just as Jamie starts to jack him, a slow movement of his wrist that Tyler easily finds the rhythm to and mimics with his lips. It’s a heady feedback loop; he has to concentrate a little bit on what he’s doing with his mouth, because every time Jamie twists his wrist and thumbs over the head of his cock, sparks light up under his eyelids and his hips twitch, out of his control.

Of course, that’s nothing compared to the feeling when Jamie finally slips Tyler’s cock into his mouth.

The moan starts deep in his chest, reverberating around Jamie’s dick, and Tyler has to pull away to take a few panting breaths as he adjusts to the sensation. He’d laugh a little at how his position leaves Jamie’s wet cock resting against the length of his cheek, throbbing in time with the beat of Jamie’s heart, but it’s all he can do to keep breathing against the onslaught of wet, hot attention from the lips wrapped around his cock.

Tyler risks glancing down, to where Jamie’s licking long, root-to-tip stripes up the underside of his hard-on, eyes closed and nostrils flared, like he’s drinking in every sensation, focusing on the pleasure of Tyler’s cock and the movement of his hand and mouth. He can’t really bob too much arranged as they are, but he does his best to work what he can get his mouth around, fingers slick and sticky around the base.

It’s nearly too much to look at, and Tyler groans again before leaning back in with renewed vigor. Jamie’s cock slides against his lips and he noses along the side of it, plants kisses and little nibbles along the shaft that has Jamie gasping, too. His cock jerks and twitches as Tyler continues his ministrations, thumb rubbing circles into Jamie’s hip as he holds on, goes in to swallow him whole.

“Jesus, Ty,” Jamie’s voice is so raspy and hoarse it sends a jolt of heat down Tyler’s spine and straight to his gut, his dick twitching against the damp skin of his navel. He sounds as wrecked as Tyler feels, hanging onto his composure by a thread - a thread that’s getting increasingly thin the longer they have their mouths on each other. It’s _really_ doing it for him, being able to work Jamie into such a state: flushed all over and damp with sweat along the thick, muscular curves of his shoulders and lower back, his mouth a wet, red _O_ as he pants into Tyler’s skin. “I’m not gonna last very long like this.”

“Me neither,” Tyler admits, barely coming up for air to speak as he plays with the head of Jamie’s cock, mouthing along the sensitive crown and lapping at the precome leaking from the tip. Jamie’s belly shudders underneath him, tremors running through his thighs as Tyler introduces a little teeth.

Yeah. He had a feeling that Jamie would like that.

They’re wordless again for a while as Jamie fits his mouth onto Tyler’s cock again, too, sucking like he means to leave a mark - and fuck, isn’t that a thought. Tyler’s flush deepens as he pictures it: red marks scattered on his hips, the perfect size and shape to fit Jamie’s fingerprints, hickeys dotted like constellation on his inner thighs. There’s no _way_ the boys wouldn’t notice during practice, hooting and catcalling and having no idea that their captain was the one who put them there.

Maybe that’s why, when Jamie slides off his cock and latches his mouth onto the swell of Tyler hip and bites, stubble rasping against his sweat-slicked skin, he starts to unravel.

His orgasm builds in his balls like accumulating fire, hips rocking into Jamie’s face as he shudders and gasps, unable to do much more than pull off Jamie’s cock and smear his mouth against him as he winds tighter and tighter. But, like with everything else, Jamie’s there for him, Jamie knows what he needs, Jamie -

Jamie sucks hard, one last time, and opens his mouth around Tyler’s cock just in time for his orgasm to hit, the world going white behind his eyes.

It feels like he’s coming forever, pulse after pulse into Jamie’s mouth, hot and wet against the head of his cock. He does his best to keep his eyes open through it all, unable to do much more than moan and whine, breath hitching with every twitch of his cock against Jamie’s lips. The muscles in his thighs tense and and his stomach shudders with the force of it, his own groaning the only sound he can hear over the thud of his heart. Tyler watches, rapt, as Jamie pulls away just as a final bead of come wells at the tip, connected to Jamie’s mouth in a shiny white strand for a second that feels like eternity.

Jamie swallows visibly, but when he licks his lips there’s white still smeared on his tongue, and Tyler honest-to-god nearly comes again when their eyes lock and Jamie’s mouth turns up in a smile.

“Good?” he asks, like Tyler can string more than three words together right now.

After a moment Tyler settles for patting Jamie’s thigh a few times as feeling works its way back into his extremities. Were orgasms like this before Jamie? He honestly can’t really remember. His life is going to be marked into two periods: Before Jamie Made Him Come Buckets, and After Jamie Made Him Come Buckets.

Jamie’s thigh is a surprisingly comfortable headrest, and Jamie himself is far too Canadian Polite to do much more than squirm tentatively as he waits. But the cock against Tyler’s cheek is still blood-hot and smearing wetly, throbbing when Tyler yawns and his beard scrapes against it. He definitely hasn’t forgotten about it. Jamie deserves all the nice things for such a beaut of a goal, not to mention a little sexual payback for the pornographic image of his open mouth, slick with Tyler’s spunk, that’s going to be seared into his brain for the rest of literally forever.

He takes a moment to work himself up to it, dragging the bridge of his nose along the side of Jamie’s cock and letting his fingers explore the wide planes of Jamie’s outer thighs, the dense muscle and sparse hair that tapers off as his fingers drift upwards. Jamie hums in the back of his throat as Tyler strokes up to the vee of his hips, turning his face so that he can pepper kisses up and down the straining shaft of Jamie’s cock. He’s gentle, but not tentative; with his own spent dick softening against his leg, he can spend all the time he wants working Jamie up to a dizzying orgasm, kiss by kiss and lick by lick. And that’s exactly what Tyler plans to do.

It’s the perfect opportunity to make a study of all the things that make Jamie twitch and groan. Tyler catalogs each with single-minded focus that he usually reserves for the puck: he sighs when Tyler pets along his damp, over-warm skin, whines in the back of his throat when he cups his balls with one hand, rolling them between his fingers as he slips his mouth over the head of Jamie’s cock. His hips start to rock forward, hitching in a lazy rhythm, when Tyler hollows his cheeks every time he slides away, gasping when Tyler exhales a hot breath over his spit-slicked cock with a smirk.

There’s no away Jamie can reach for Tyler’s hair from this far - which is a shame, Tyler _likes_ his fingers in his hair and his broad palms cupping the back of his neck - but he paws at Tyler’s thighs for purchase as he slips closer and closer to the edge, unable to lay still as Tyler works him to a feverish pace. He moans, long and low, when Tyler sucks him down to the root, nose brushing against wiry hair and Jamie shuddering above him, cock twitching tell-tale against his tongue. He’s so close, the noises he’s making going thready and high as Tyler doesn’t let up, sucking and licking and letting Jamie rock little thrusts into his open mouth.

He’s so hot to the touch, everywhere they’re connected; Tyler risks a glance up, careful to keep his lips wide and throat lax, and Jamie looks _so good_ , sweat beading on his hairline and tattoos dark against his flushed skin, chest heaving with every breath he takes - and when their gazes meet Jamie’s coming, open-mouthed and moaning his name, eyes so dark Tyler thinks he could get lost in them.

Tyler swallows like a champ because _fuck yeah_ he does, keeping his lips sealed around Jamie until he’s whining, over-sensitive and shuddery all over. It’s only when Jamie’s chanting, “Seggy, Seggy - _Tyler!”_ that he pulls away, smirking and licking his lips. He leaves one final, chaste kiss on the tip of Jamie’s cock before twisting and crawling up so they can lay face-to-face, side by side as they pant, grinning kind of stupidly at each other.

Tyler doesn’t mind, if it means he gets to keep looking at Jamie.

 

It’s not a long walk of shame - just around the corner to the elevator bay, down two floors to his own room - but it’s a damned good thing Tyler doesn’t come across anyone, from the team or otherwise. When he catches his reflection in the bathroom mirror, stripping down before bed, his face is still flushed pink, his beard a little matted here and there.

Not to mention - there’s a vaguely shiny dried patch on the skin of his cheek, and when Tyler rubs at it he has to laugh, because he’d put money on it being some combination of spit and precome from when Jamie’s cock had laid across his cheek.

And maybe - yeah, there is, _fuck_ : a reddish mark on the inside of his thigh, too far down to show above his waistband but too conspicuously mouth-shaped to be anything but a hickey. Tyler admires it, face running hot again. There’s no way he’s getting it up again tonight, but he feels something in his gut stir at the sight of it, a dark warmth at the thought of being marked by Jamie. As _Jamie’s._

His bed isn’t quite as comfortable as the one he’s just left, but maybe that’s because they got it all rumpled and warm with their _activities._ Well, and there’s a Jamie in that bed. His shoulders were always pretty nice to fall asleep on, at least on a bus, or on a plane. Maybe one of these times, when it’s Jamie in _his_ room, he’ll ask him to stay. Whoever started the rumor on the team that Tyler hogs all the covers is full of shit - well, maybe not totally full of shit. He’d do his best to share with Jamie, though.

Tyler sighs, snuggling further into the sheets. He can still taste Jamie in his mouth, and that’s a reward he isn’t willing to share.

 

Tyler most definitely does _not_ intentionally draw attention to the love bite during their practice on Anaheim ice.

“Oi, Segs! Found yourself a biter in LA?” Shoresey nods down to the mark on his thigh, the little shit, totally ignoring the unspoken rule that you don’t _look_ look at other dudes’ junk in the locker room. He’s smirking like he’s discovered a secret, even though he should know better - _Tyler_ and _shameless_ are two words thrown together in the same sentence more often than not.

Not that he minds, of course. What’s there to be ashamed about if you had a good time?

So he shrugs, nonchalant, even though half the eyes in the room swivel over to his bare skin, unspoken rules be damned. Hockey players are, after all, notorious gossips.

“Can’t blame ‘em from wanting a piece of this,” Tyler gestures down the length of his own body, waggling his eyebrows dramatically enough that it sets Devin off giggling again. Naturally, that’s when Jamie walks into the room, sweating already breathing hard from his warm-up and striding towards his stall, next to Tyler’s, and -

Tyler watches the play of expressions on his face as he notices the mark on his thigh. It’s a good thing the spots of high color on his cheeks can be attributed to whatever he was just doing with the trainers, though there’s no mistaking the wide, dark-eyed look that comes over him. Something hot and deep in Tyler’s stomach twists, and he jerks his shorts up before it’s obvious that Jamie looking is really, _really_ doing something for him.

Hockey cups are really a blessing and a curse.

Jamie sits heavily next to him, and they don’t speak for a moment as Tyler shifts around, getting the rest of his pads in place and tugging up his hockey pants, Jamie shrugging on his chest-guard and carefully not making eye contact. But it’s - it’s not weird tension, the stifling kind of quiet that happens when they argue, which happens rarely anyways. No; it’s the heavy knowledge sitting between them that there’s a love bite on Tyler’s thigh in the perfect shape of Jamie’s mouth, dark enough that it’s going to linger for days. It doesn’t hurt much at all - only when Tyler presses his fingers against it, which he did that morning in bed while somewhere in that space between asleep and awake - but it’s going to be there, under his layers of spandex and pads and tape. During this practice, during the rest of their road trip, during the next few games.

And, no matter if the other guys see it, it’s something that is just for him, that’s just _theirs,_ a badge on his skin for the thing that’s between them.

Tyler knew that did a lot for him, honestly, but it’s really another thing to start getting hard before _practice_ when he and Jamie haven’t even said a word to each other yet.

He finishes lacing up before Jamie does, having gotten a head start, and there’s only a split-second hesitation in his mind before he reaches out and pats Jamie’s knee as he pushes himself to standing to head for the ice. Jamie blinks up at him but an easy smile spreads on his face, the intensity in his eyes fading to normal Jamie softness, and yeah. They’re good, they’re fine. There’s no reason Tyler’s heart should be tripping over itself in his chest, but it’s the relief more than anything that things are still good between them.

It gnaws at him during practice, though. They can’t let what they’re doing bleed over into places where the boys would notice - not with how they interact with each other around the team, and _definitely_ not on the ice. But he can’t deny that things are really good right now, and the humor and high spirits of practice push the thoughts from his mind.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a surprise when Jamie waits with him, to be the last one off Ducks ice as practice is wrapping up. He’s shooting lingering looks Tyler’s way from his perch by the tunnel, watching as he and Klinger gather and juggle the pucks into a bucket. Eventually John abandons them for a shower, rolling his eyes at Tyler’s antics, and Tyler knocks his snowed-up skates against Jamie’s once he’s officially the last of the Stars off the ice.

“Superstitious,” Jamie teases, and Tyler laughs, leaning in to mash his wet, smelly glove in Jamie’s sweaty face.

“Look who’s talking,” he shoots back without malice. Jamie ducks his glove but can’t get out of the way of Tyler shouldering him along the tunnel, and they bump into each other with exaggerated animosity, giggling the whole time.

The locker room’s totally empty when they finally clomp in - had they really taken so long in getting off the ice? There aren’t even any trainers or coaching staff in the halls - and they keep ribbing each other, play-fighting as they sit and take off their pads.

“I’m not the one who plays _rock-paper-scissors_ with half the league to be last on the ice after warm-ups, Seggy,” Jamie chirps, and Tyler wads up the tape he’s removed from his left leg and tosses it at Jamie’s head. They’re a foot away, so of course it hits. Tyler crows in victory like he doesn’t have preternaturally good aim from being a _hockey player,_ and Jamie laughs along with him.

“I’m not the one who - well,” Tyler cuts himself off, biting his lip as the smirk spreads wide across his face. Jamie quirks an eyebrow at him, pausing from where he’s pulling off a skate to watch Tyler’s face, waiting him out as he tugs his sweaty practice jersey over his head. He knows what’s going to happen, they’ve been here before: Jamie’s going to try to wait Tyler out, and because Tyler _knows_ his own lack of self-control, he’s going to break down giggling and spit it out sooner rather than later.

Doesn’t hurt to keep Jamie waiting for a few extra seconds, though.

“ _I’m not the one who_ what, eh?” Jamie nudges him, taking the opportunity to surreptitiously elbow him in the ribs as he combs his fingers through his misbehaving hair. It’s a good look on him, along with the smile - because they’re still grinning like loons at each other, alone in the locker room, clothes strewn around them haphazardly, like -

Well, Tyler’s mind has already gone there anyways.

So he puts a hand on Jamie’s exposed thigh, right where the hem of his shorts have ridden up to expose his sweat-damp skin, hot to the touch underneath his palm. When he leans in closer, eyelashes dipping low, Jamie half-gasps and his eyes darken again, licking his lips unconsciously.

“I’m not the one getting superstitious blowjobs before games,” Tyler murmurs, and for the space of two heartbeats their eyes are locked, the tension from earlier suddenly back and thick and humming between them like a current. “But I guess I actually am,” he continues, giving Jamie’s thigh a squeeze and leveling a smirk in his direction. “ _And_ giving them, so. Pot and kettle, there, eh?”

Jamie’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly, eyes darting between Tyler’s eyes and his mouth. And - yeah, if he looks anything like what _Jamie_ looks like right now, cheeks flushed and eyes wide and vibrating with tension, then - then Tyler doesn’t really _blame_ him, because this is the fastest he’s gone from six to midnight in a public setting since _juniors._

“That - uh, that reminds me,” Jamie says, voice all low and gravely in a way that shoots right down Tyler’s spine to his gut, “last time was amazing, but -”

“There’s a _but_ about that sixty-nine action? _Dude,_ ” Tyler interrupts, and the corner of Jamie’s mouth twitches into a smile before he can help it. He bats at Tyler’s shoulder playfully, though, which quickly turns into him cupping his bicep and stroking along the patterned lines of tattoo on the back of Tyler’s arm, which is nearly as distracting as Jamie’s mouth.

“ _But,_ ” Jamie finally continues, “We, um - it kind of muddied the water. Was that for a goal today, or one of the goals last night, or- ”

“Yes?” Tyler says, but the word tilts up at the end into a question. “I mean, it could be both. Or either. I don’t - it was awesome regardless of what it was for.”

“Well, yeah,” Jamie rolls his eyes, which shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but they’re still pressed thigh-to-thigh, hot from their recent workout and completely in each other’s personal space. Tyler can forgive himself for finding everything about Jamie hot in this moment. “I was just gonna say - I wouldn’t mind giving you a little, uh, extra luck tonight, if you’re still - if you’re still feeling superstitious.”

Tyler blinks.

“I mean- ” Jamie starts to stammer and backtrack, and how _dare_ he, because that was _such_ a good come on and _obviously-_

“ _Yes,”_ Tyler breathes, squeezing Jamie’s thigh under his hand. “Jamie - yes. Name a time and place before the game and I’m there.”

Jamie grins at him, eyebrows raised. “Taking any help you can get?”

“Something like that,” Tyler smirks back, pushing off Jamie’s thigh to stand and shuck the rest of his pads and head for the showers. When he looks over his shoulder, shooting Jamie a grin, he finds that Jamie’s already following, stripping as he goes, one foot after the other.

 

Jamie blows him against the tiled wall of the locker room showers, letting Tyler come in his wide-open mouth. It’s a picture in extremes: the cool press of tile at his back, Jamie hot pressed against his front, water sluicing over both of them all the while. It’s a stolen moment in time, intimate and dirty, only a few doors and empty hallways between them and anyone that might come looking.

It’s all he’s going to be able to think about in a few hours, when they’re back here in the Honda Center, suiting up for the game.

Tyler’s going to get Jamie that goal.

 

The game against the Ducks gets chippy fast, but with the line swaps and shift-changes they’ve been practicing, they do a pretty good job of keeping the puck out of their own zone. With their full complement of D-men back on the roster and on the ice, they make quick work of a first and second goal. The second line’s all whoops and smiles when Spezza scores, and the energy is infectious - even with the overwhelmingly orange crowd, dotted only here and there by green and white.

They’re tied up, though, before the second period ends, and Tyler’s getting pretty tired of hearing the Duck’s goal song. And, y’know. Ryan Getzlaf’s smug face.

“This period,” he says to Jamie as they line up in the tunnel for the third, tapping the blade of his stick against the toe of Jamie’s skate a few times. The line shifts ahead of them, the team heading back out into the arena, but Tyler doesn’t hurry. “I’m getting you that goal this period.”

And it’s - it’s really something, to watch the smile form on Jamie’s face, the way the corners of his eyes crease and his cheek dimples just a little. His eyes are all bright warmth with just a little bit of something coy and knowing, a spark of the secret between them, the language only they know. Tyler’s grin breaks over his face even wider when Jamie’s ears get a little pink before the blush is properly flooding his cheeks, and he giggles when Jamie reaches over to cuff him on the shoulder.

“Show me then, hotshot,” he says, a challenge. “Good things come to boys who have a four-game point streak.”

Tyler smirks. That’s something they agree on.

He gets that goal with two minutes left in the third, heart pounding in his throat as he skates down the bench to fistbump the team, swept up in Jamie’s arm in a celly that he wishes didn’t have to end. But from there it’s just playing strong defense, playing their hearts out and runnin’ that clock until the buzzer sounds. It’s a sweet, sweet sound that rings in Tyler’s ears as the team spills onto the ice to cluster around him and Jamie and Bish, a swarm of green and laughter and shouting.

That’s three wins in a row now, two of which they got on the road, and it really feels like the start of something. They’re finally hitting their stride, the newer guys really clicking into their positions and with their linemates, and Tyler - Tyler’s loving every minute of it.

He may or may not be superstitious about some hockey things, but from where he is in the middle of the throng, it looks and _feels_ like some damned good hockey. He could really get used to this.

He also really, really wants to take Jamie home.

And, from the look Jamie’s giving him, between the helmets and the waving arms of the rest of the team, Jamie wants that too.

 

Anaheim is basically still LA, and the team is _wired_ when they go out on the town. They find a bar with a rooftop patio - because of course, it’s _California -_ and even though it’s winter it’s not as cold as the rink can get. The Stars spread across these weird low sofas and chirp at each other whenever someone forgets themselves and almost puts their feet up on the knee-high tables - especially Tyler, because of that awful and hilarious commercial. But it’s awesome, the high of their third straight win and the warmth of being sandwiched between Jamie and Alex, bragging about the point spread of their Awesome Liney Couch and drinking something that’s really very blue.

He even gets away with throwing an arm across the back of the sofa-thing, because they’re all so crushed together and, like most furniture made for normal-sized humans, this weird couch wasn’t designed to accommodate several enthusiastic hockey players.

Jamie gives him a look when he does it, though, so Tyler’s probably being pretty obvious. He’s having too much fun to care.

They stay longer than he thought because Patty Eaves shows up, still in his suit since he hasn’t been cleared to play yet, all smiles for his former teammates even though his boys lost tonight. The conversation is easy and good and Tyler’s face hurts from how much smiling he’s doing, tucked into Jamie’s side. They argue with each other, good-natured chirping just the two of them, as much as with anyone else.

Maybe that’s why Tyler doesn’t notice when the first round of old marrieds head back to the hotel, leaving them with the younger guys that aren’t done drinking or want to pick up. The group dwindles as it gets later until it’s a half-dozen of them under the southern Californian stars, an impressive collection of beer bottles and margarita glasses on the table between them.

Tyler can’t bring himself to move, even when Rads disappears and there’s more than enough room for he and Jamie to spread out. It’s more fun when he can elbow Jamie while he chirps, anyways.

“I think it’s about time we got Elie here home, eh?” Jamie says and stands, doing an admirable job of not wobbling. He actually hasn’t had that much to drink - he can never seem to fully let go of Responsible Captain Jamie when they’re on roadies.

“Travel day tomorrow,” Tyler reminds the group as he stands as well, to a chorus of groans. He grins at Jamie - god, this must be what parenting feelings like - and they manage to herd the stragglers down the stairs and to the curb to call an Uber.

“Thanks,” Jamie says, once they pour Elie and Pitlick and the others into the SUV and shut the door on their antics. Tyler wouldn’t be surprised if they fell asleep before they made it back to the hotel. “You could have gone ahead, you know.”

Tyler shoots him a stern look that totally fails when he can’t stop himself from smiling. “Dude, just because I only wear the A at home games doesn’t mean I don’t, like, carry it around, you know?”

Jamie huffs a soft chuckle and glances away, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he says, apparently lost for words, but Tyler can tell from his pursed lips and the smile in his eyes that Jamie is inordinately pleased with his answer.

They don’t make it back to the hotel until even later, a pleasant sort of sleepy-quiet in the halls and a companionable silence between them. It’s comfortably cool in the air conditioning, but they still stand close enough that Tyler can bask in Jamie’s body heat, their sleeves brushing as they get in the elevator.

“Sorry,” Jamie breaks the silence when the door closes in front of them, risking a glance in Tyler’s direction. He tilts his head, starting to frown, when Jamie continues. “I know you wanted - I was kinda hoping tonight, too, but it’s so late that- ”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tyler knocks his shoe into Jamie’s, giving him a tired smile. He _was_ hoping, but it’s not like he can really be upset about how well their night went. Spending time out with the boys in the name of team cohesion isn’t a hardship in the slightest - especially when he was pressed all up against Jamie the entire time, anyways. Even if it wasn’t in the way he originally anticipated. “It was good - _really_ good, you know? I don’t always, uh, need - it was perfect the way it was.”

And, as he stammers his way around saying _but I really did want to give you a blowjob,_ Tyler finds that it’s actually the truth. It was kinda perfect, just the way it happened.

The smile Jamie shoots at him is part relieved and part wry, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, it was - but, well,” he says, and Tyler has a feeling he knows what’s coming next because there’s pink already creeping across his cheekbones, “I wish it wasn’t so late- ”

“ _Jamie,_ ” Tyler chuckles, taking a half-step closer so he can circle one hand around Jamie’s strong wrist. Under his fingers Jamie’s pulse jumps, and - yeah, Tyler could get there tonight, too, but he has a better idea. “Tomorrow’s a travel day. We can get away with sleeping in a little before team breakfast.”

There’s a pause as Jamie lick his lips, glancing sideways at Tyler out of the corner of his eyes. They’re close enough that the motion makes the line of his jaw rub against Tyler’s nose, just barely catching on the rough scrape of his stubble. “So you’re saying…”

“We’re the last ones out. No one’s gonna notice if I don’t make it back to my room,” he reasons, and bites his lip as the plan forms in his mind. He doesn’t miss the way Jamie’s eyes track down his face and linger on his mouth. Tyler’s stomach twists pleasantly, in a way that makes him forget that he’s tired at all, but - “I can think of a better way to wake up in a morning than setting an alarm on your phone.”

It’s easy to tell when Jamie gets it by how quickly his blush spreads. But he doesn’t say no, just turns his hand in Tyler’s grip so that he can grab Tyler’s wrist instead, leading him down the hall when the elevator door dings open.

Fuck yeah, Tyler thinks. This is going to be worth the wait.

 

Jamie’s not a particularly heavy sleeper - part and parcel of being captain, Tyler assumes, being more or less ready to wake up _to_ anything and _by_ anything - but he sleeps through the quiet alarm Tyler’s set for himself in the morning. It probably helps that they took separate beds, an unspoken agreement that they’d keep their hands to themselves so they would actually _get_ to bed, as late as it was. The weight of Tyler’s proposition also hung heavily between them, though by the time he’d stripped and gotten under the covers, exhaustion had totally caught up with him.

But, well. As Jamie said: good things come to those who have a point streak. And to those who wait. Either way, Tyler’s going to enjoy this.

So he slides out of his nest of blankets, padding over to Jamie’s bed as quietly as he can. The covers rustle as he pulls them back far enough that he can worm his way underneath them, the bed dipping under his weight. It’s so warm - Jamie keeps the sheets pulled up most of the way over his chest, and as Tyler scooches closer, it’s hard to ignore the pure _heat_ that Jamie just always radiates. Fuck the fact that there’s only like an inch of height difference between them, Jamie probably makes an _amazing_ big spoon.

Too bad his intentions are really far more X-rated than just sneaking in for a cuddle.

Tyler warms up his hands against his own thighs before reaching out to find Jamie’s hips, stealing between the covers until they connect with his skin. Over the curve of Jamie’s shoulder Tyler can only just make out how soft and relaxed he looks in sleep, brow smooth from worries and mouth just barely open and - and really, really kissable.

The thought makes his fingers subconsciously flex on Jamie’s hip and he looks away, focuses on the muscular lines of Jamie’s back instead, how the hair at the nape of his neck and on the sides are starting to get a little too long. And, of course, the plush shape of his ass below the two perfect dimples on either side of his spine.

Tyler snuggles a little further under the covers. This is what he came here to do, anyways.

He starts slow, fitting his mouth on a spot just above where he’s resting his hand. Jamie’s curled on his side but he starts to stir when Tyler opens his mouth, peppers kisses inwards towards his navel along the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

His cock is half-hard in sleep, thick but still soft, and Tyler can’t wait to watch it fill - maybe even feel it against his tongue, if Jamie’s slow enough to wake. Jamie looks so perfect like this - warm and soft and private, like only Tyler gets to see. It makes something in his chest squeeze, something that’s - something that isn’t just want.

And that’s - huh. That really doesn’t feel so foreign at all.

Tyler skims his fingers between Jamie’s waistband and his warm skin, shifting his shoulders and worming sideways so that he can find place in between his parted knees. Jamie’s calves are snug on either side of his ribs, warm from being tucked so securely under the covers, and Jamie finally starts to sigh and move when Tyler palms over his outer thighs, exploring the expanse of his bare skin. There’s a groan from above him and a palpable tremor down the length of Jamie’s body when he realizes what’s happening, knees squeezing on either side of Tyler’s chest in acknowledgement.

He smirks, pressing his lips to the faint trail of hair leading into Jamie’s underwear so that he can feel the smile on his lips. It’s only a second later that the Jamie’s pawing through the layers of sheets and blankets, digging until he can throw the covers past Tyler’s head to expose him to the cool air. He doesn’t pull away from Jamie’s skin, only opens his mouth to lick a damp stripe across his belly and squeeze his hips when he meets Jamie’s eyes.

“Good morning,” Tyler says, muffled by the soft skin under his lips. Jamie’s mouth is parted and his eyes are a little wide with surprise, even though Tyler had all but said the night before that this was The Plan, to make up for how late they got back to the hotel. His eyelids droop a little with sleep, though as Tyler continues to attentively kiss and lick and toy with the hem of his boxer-briefs, he looks more and more awake and less disbelieving.

“Um,” Jamie says, and his voice is already kind of thready and breathy in a way that Tyler loves. It gets his own blood thrumming in kind, just as Jamie’s cock is starting to fill out and harden even more under his chin. “Good, uh - morning?”

Tyler grins. He tugs the elastic of the waistband away from Jamie’s skin, barely enough for his filling cock to lie flat against his belly as it thickens even further - and lets go so it snaps. It makes a great sound, not nearly hard enough to hurt - but Jamie’s hips shift underneath him and he gasps, cheeks and ears flushing the longer he watches Tyler move between his legs.

This is going to be fun.

When Tyler waggles his eyebrows and slips his fingers under Jamie’s waistband to slide it down - for real, this time - Jamie doesn’t hesitate in lifting his hips, the muscles in his arms and abs flexing as he adjusts his weight. It takes a little maneuvering for Tyler to get them far enough so that won’t impede his own movement or trap him between Jamie’s legs.

Not that it would be a hardship to be trapped between Jamie’s thighs, he thinks as he glances down into Jamie’s lap. Tyler’s mouth is watering already at the sight of his hardening cock.

Yeah. Not a hardship at all.

He acts fast, because he wants a piece of this and he hasn’t gotten the chance, yet: he leans down and fits his mouth over the fat head of Jamie’s cock, savoring the springy softness and tang of salt and the gasp that greets his ears. He’s soft enough to play with a little, and Tyler spends these precious seconds getting him plenty wet and exploring the velvety feel of his skin as Jaime gets harder and harder in his mouth. The perfect arch of his cock fills out against Tyler’s tongue, flexibility traded for firmness, blood-hot and pulsing with Jamie’s heartbeat.

Fuck, it’s so hot. Working a guy up full hardness, feeling the shape of him come to life against him - Tyler loves this part.

There’s a gentle touch at his temples and his eyes flutter open in time for him to watch Jamie lean forward and lace his fingers into his hair, one palm briefly sweeping down to cup his jaw before threading into Tyler’s sleep-mussed curls.

Oh, fuck yeah. There’s a wet pop as he pulls off Jamie’s cock to grin, almost immediately replacing it with three of his own fingers. “You can pull a little, if you want,” he says, giving Jamie a smarmy wink because he knows it’ll make him laugh. The earnest smile and chuckle he gets as a reward is just as good as the way Jamie’s eyes barely move away from his mouth, attention fixed on the way Tyler’s tongue moves between his fingers. “I like it.”

Jamie’s eyes darken at the words, even though, like, _duh_. There’s no _way_ he hasn’t caught on by now that Tyler likes a little hair-pulling when he’s giving BJs. But he loyally sinks his fingers further into Tyler’s hair, letting his nails gently scrape across his scalp and giving a gentle tug when they’re well and truly buried in his locks.

Just for show - okay, maybe only a little bit for show and mostly because _yeah_ , he’s into it - Tyler moans around his fingers, giving them one last lingering suck before sliding them out of his mouth and circling them around the base of Jamie’s cock. It’s past time that he’s gotten his mouth back on this thing - fingers are no true replacement for a nice, fat dick.

Tyler takes his time, exhaling a hot breath over Jamie’s cock before licking a stripe up the taut underside, nibbling along the vein that always pulses to life on the side before swallowing it down. This part’s so good; Jamie’s head falls back against his pillow and he moans, hips shifting helplessly against the onslaught of Tyler’s mouth, his flushed throat exposed and thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. God, if only he could take a picture; there’s no way Jamie knows how good he looks in this moment. It’s so open and honest, the way Jamie takes his pleasure, lets himself really _let go_ underneath him and go along for the ride.

Tyler’s own cock is leaking against his underwear at the sight of him, at the feel of him in his mouth. He shifts his hips against the mattress, subtly grinding to the rhythm as much as he can without distracting himself.

He’s never gonna get his fill of this.

There’s a low whine building in Jamie’s throat that cuts off in a guttural groan when Tyler drops his jaw and takes him in further, nostrils flaring as he breathes past his gag reflex. Spit is dribbling from the corner of his mouth but he doesn’t dare move to wipe it away, not when Jamie’s being so good and only barely moving his hips, hands flexing in his hair but not forcing, not controlling.

He eases off so that he can catch his breath, panting and grinning with pride. His face is warm, jaw starting to ache in that tell-tale, oh-so-good way that only comes from giving Blue Ribbon Quality Oral.

“Doing all right up there, champ?” he calls softly up to Jamie, who flops his arms rather gracelessly to find a second pillow and stuff it under his head. It gives him enough leverage to look down and meet Tyler’s eyes, though, and that’s _totally_ a win. Jamie’s eyes are that damp-glassy Tyler’s come to recognize, mouth so pink it’s like _he’s_ been the one sucking cock. In the soft half-darkness, with only the faint light from beyond the closed curtains, he still looks disbelieving, disheveled and wondrous that Tyler is here, nestled comfortably between his knees so early in the morning.

“‘M I still dreaming?” Jamie says, breathing hard and cracking a smile by the end of his sentence, and the gentle way he brushes Tyler’s unruly curls away from his forehead is - is something else.

Tyler swallows against the tightness in his throat. “If you are, I’m flattered to be here.”

Jamie laughs and jabs him gently in the ribs with the ball of his foot, scrunching his toes in an attempt to tickle - which nearly works, though Tyler has good enough reflexes not to flinch and accidentally elbow him in the dick. They crack up hard enough that Tyler has to stop the lazy jack of Jamie’s cock and just breathe, burying his nose in Jamie’s stomach to tickle him back with the scratchy hair of his beard.

They wind down eventually, and Tyler rests his chin Jamie’s cock and tilts his head, biting his lip as a question forms in his mind. “Wanna fuck my face?” he asks, as faux-innocent as he can manage - though it probably doesn’t work very well, considering how Jamie half-laughs and half-chokes on his own breath.

The muscles in Jamie’s thighs jump and twitch as Tyler pets along them, smoothing up and down as he waits for an answer. Jamie’s ears are a really fetching pink by the time he recovers himself, fingers moving restlessly in Tyler’s hair. It shouldn’t be so fun to watch him squirm a little with the heat of it - because he can see it in Jamie’s face now, how he’s imagining it, the images flashing through his mind.

It must make for a pretty fucking awesome picture - hell, Tyler can feel himself oozing in his underwear at just Jamie’s _reaction_ to the suggestion - and it isn’t long before Jamie nods, apparently not trusting himself with words.

This isn’t something he actually does very often - even when he’s regularly picking up guys, which he hasn’t done much of lately to begin with. But it takes a certain amount of vulnerability on his part, and trust; Tyler can’t think of anyone he trusts more than Jamie right now, though. On _and_ off the ice, especially when it comes to his body. Jamie just seems to know what he needs before Tyler himself does.

Except, well, when it came to this. Tyler isn’t going to let him forget that this was _his_ idea, and it was a fucking _good_ one.

He licks his lips thoroughly as he shifts into position, batting the covers back over his shoulders from where they’d started to fall and block the view. Not to mention that it’s getting pretty stuffy under the sheets; there’s a thin sheen of sweat forming on Tyler’s back and his ribs, he can tell from the way Jamie’s calves slide so easily against him when he squirms a little in anticipation. Heh, good - what’s sex without a little bit of that lead-up?

It’s probably hypocritical, considering how impatient of a person he generally is day-to-day - hell, even with hooking up, he often likes to skip steps to get to the good parts. But lately - something about this with Jamie has one phrase rocking through his head, every time he’s close to screwing his eyes shut in pleasure or wishing they already had their hands down each other’s pants. That part of his brain says _I don’t want to miss a second of this_ , and he’s finally gotten better about listening to it.

Tyler doesn’t leave Jamie waiting long - he just does a thorough job of making sure that he’s comfortable and ready for this, moving between Jamie’s thighs so that he can brace himself without putting too much weight on Jamie, so he can move and thrust however he wants. Which Tyler hopes he _does,_ once he gets accustomed to the sensation again. Losing himself in his pleasure is a really, really good look on Jamie Benn.

He looks up from adjusting the sheets and nudging Jamie’s legs in place when he’s finally satisfied, a smile breaking across his face when he drinks in the sight of how flushed and eager Jamie is above him. He hasn’t moved an inch more than Tyler’s silently instructed, one hand thrown over his mouth as he pants, chest heaving, the other finally settling on Tyler’s bare shoulder now that he’s stopped moving. There’s a shiny pool of precome in the hollow just under his navel, cock dripping with it as he waits.

Tyler’s _so_ ready to have that back in his mouth.

“Gonna show me what you got?” he murmurs, leaning in until Jamie can feel the words against his cock. His eyes darken, going half-lidded in the muted darkness, and experimentally Jamie shifts his hips. Tyler groans in his throat at the feel of Jamie’s muscles tensing under his fingers, the plush warmth of his thighs going hard and - _fuck, yeah_. He cups his hands around Jamie’s ass as he rocks forward a second time, the head of his cock smearing along Tyler’s wet lips and glutes going firm. Tyler can’t resist - he cops a good feel and squeezes when Jamie gently thrusts a third time, opening his mouth so that the ridge of his cockhead catches at his open lips. There’s a decidedly unholy noise as Jamie moans and swears above him.

God, he’s so hot.

He really needs to keep one hand loosely circled around the base of Jamie’s cock - for at least a little stability - so it’s with his left hand that he catches Jamie’s fingers and guides it back into his curls, squeezing his wrist before letting go and anchoring himself more solidly on his elbows. Jamie bites his lip as he shifts his hips in inches, that stone-solid willpower keeping him from rushing in before Tyler’s ready. And damn, if that isn’t hot, too - knowing that Jamie’s leaking for it but strong enough to resist until he’s good, making sure that Tyler’s meeting him step for step, pass for pass -

“Come on,” Tyler says, voice barely more than a growl, and he drops his jaw and bares his tongue so that Jamie can make the slow thrust inside.

Jamie’s gentle; of course he is. He takes his time in feeding Tyler his cock, pausing when just the head is resting on his tongue so Tyler can lick and lave over it, swirl his tongue around it and pay special attention to the spots he _knows_ are sensitive before there’s too much in his mouth for him to do anything but swallow and breathe. A shiver runs across Jamie’s skin when Tyler hollows his cheeks and gives him a nice suck before squeezing Jamie’s ass to urge him in further.

It’s a little slow going, but they’re being careful - Tyler hasn’t done this in a while, Jamie obviously unwilling to push him any farther than he wants to go. But it’s slow in a delicious, sensual way: Tyler lets himself close his eyes so he can focus on breathing as Jamie’s cock fills all of his senses, opening his jaw further as the weight of it presses on his tongue. There’s an obvious throb of Jamie’s heartbeat through his cock, hot against Tyler’s lips and twitching as he sinks to the root.

Tyler can tell, the moment Jamie’s cock nudges at the back of his throat, slick and soft. Above him, Jamie makes a sound - a soft, hesitant noise, something like a whine - which Tyler _totally_ gets, because he doesn’t want this to stop, doesn’t want this to end, either. He swallows a little in preparation and then, when Jamie doesn’t dare trust any further, leans in to take those last few precious inches himself.

“ _God,_ ” Jamie swear as the last of his shaft slides beyond his lips and his cock glides easily into the length of Tyler’s throat. “God, fuck, look at you.”

The hand cupping the back of his head traces down, through his hair to cup his chin. Jamie gingerly follows the cut of Tyler’s jaw, scratching gently through his beard until he gets to his mouth. Tyler’s eyes flicker open at the drawn-out groan from above him; Jamie smears his thumb across Tyler’s stretched lower lip, licking his own lips as he does so. Fuck, it’s so wet and getting wetter; he always drools when he does this, overwhelmed with the feel and the taste and the weight and the heat. Jamie doesn’t seem to mind - hell, he seems to be just as into it as Tyler is, because he draws back a few careful inches and presses inwards again, cupping Tyler’s jaw so that he can just barely feel the shape of his cock moving in Tyler’s throat.

“Yeah, you look so good - you take it so nice,” Jamie says between pants, hips moving in a sinuous, slow rhythm that drags his cock in and out just _perfectly._ Tyler knows he’s gonna feel the burn of this stretch tomorrow, and he’s going to love it as much then as he is now. “You open up so good for me.”

And that - Tyler’s no stranger to dirty talk, but something about the shift in Jamie’s tone, or the words that he’s murmuring without taking his eyes off Tyler for a second - something about this simmers under the surface of his skin. He’s flushed already from their activities but he can feel his cheeks burn even hotter, sweat slicking further down his back and prickling wetly at the nape of his neck.

That’s not to mention the way his own cock takes a sudden renewed and urgent interest in the proceedings at hand - heh, at hand. Giving head has always done it for him, pushing his body to give this much and achieve the feat of deepthroating even more so - but liquid heat curls in his belly at Jamie’s words, at those words in Jamie’s _voice_. His dick throbs where it’s pressed between his belly and the mattress, still caught up and trapped in his boxer-briefs, and he grinds down a little helplessly. This isn’t about him right now, and he has to be careful, but - but he can definitely get off on where this is going.

“That’s it,” Jamie says, and Tyler comes back to himself to meet Jamie’s eyes, groaning around the girth of his cock when Jamie smiles, honest and just - just so fuckin’ pleased, like he _means_ the dirty talk and isn’t just saying it because it makes both of them run hotter than the sun. He’s started to thrust faster, now, the salty tang of precome dragging across Tyler’s tongue when he pulls out far enough for him to get a taste again. “You feel so incredible, Ty.”

Tyler groans again, this time to watch as a shudder runs up Jamie’s spine at the feel of it through his cock - he’d smile if he could, but - well. Jamie can hopefully tell that he’s enjoying himself anyways.

It doesn’t take long for them to work up to a steady rhythm, one that has Jamie’s chest heaving and must be leaving his thighs burning, for how thoroughly and carefully he’s thrusting. Sweat has started to matte down the dark hair on his chest and he’s flushed nearly down to his nipples too, mouth pink and slick from where he keeps biting his own lip. For all that he keeps going on about how Tyler looks on his cock, he can’t help but admire that this is just as good of a look on Jamie. _Jamie_ , at least, isn’t starting to drool.

As if he’s heard Tyler’s thoughts, Jamie reaches out and thumbs through the slick leaking from the corner of his mouth, rubbing it back along the length of his cock in one smooth movement as he pulls out. He’s so wet, now, his cock nearly an angry shade of pink-red with how hard he is.

“Come on,” he says, breathy and wrecked. “So good for me, come on - I’m so close, Ty, I just- ”

Tyler’s shoulders flex as he draws back, letting go of Jamie’s cock to anchor his hand on his hip and slow the frantic pace of his thrusts. “God, Jamie,” he says, swallowing convulsively a few times - and Jesus Christ, it’s gonna sound like he was gargling with gravel all day, he sounds so hoarse already. “You can give it to me. Fuck me like you want to, I can take it- ”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jamie swears, biting his lip so hard it goes white under the force of his teeth. He scrabbles for his own cock, getting a hand around it and jacking himself with quick, jerking strokes. The wet noises are obscene as he works his cock raw, eyes so dark and wide and unflinchingly locked on Tyler’s own, he can’t even imagine looking away. It takes a good half-second for him to stop staring and move to catch up, opening his mouth for Jamie to fuck inside, and-

Jamie comes explosively the second Tyler’s tongue touches the fat head of his cock, the high whine in his throat dissolving into a moan that echoes through the room. He stuffs a fist into his mouth to quiet himself as he shoots stripe after stripe across Tyler’s face and tongue, his entire body shuddering with each pulse. It’s hot and it’s _so much,_ dripping down the sides of Tyler’s face and coating his tongue even before he has the chance to savor the sensation. He does his best to stay still, though, keeping his mouth open even as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

It’s not every day that you get to enjoy your own money shot, after all.

There’s a few beats of silence as Jamie collapses backwards, finally going boneless as he lets his thighs relax and he slumps into the nest of pillows behind him. He exhales heavily, still panting, and Tyler carefully blinks through one come-slicked eye to grin at the picture he makes. The color’s high on Jamie’s cheeks, down to his chest, about as damp with sweat as Tyler feels, without the - y’know.

“Oh, fuck,” Jamie groans when he finally glances at Tyler’s face, coming down off his mind-blowing orgasm. “Holy - god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- ”

“Dude, don’t be _sorry,_ ” Tyler laughs, easing himself up off his elbows as carefully as he can. There’s no sense in making even _more_ of a mess if he can help it. “I’m glad it was good for you, let me just get- ”

“No, no, let me,” Jamie scrambles a little trying to find something for him to wipe his face with, blushing hotly - either from his own embarrassment or the total fucking wreck of come and sweat that is Tyler’s face. He licks his lips just as Jamie snags his discarded underwear from the foot of the bed, kicked somewhere down by his ankles. “Um, is this- ”

Tyler giggles. “Gimme,” he says, wiggling his fingers, and Jamie obliges him with an easy toss. Smiling, he makes a show of licking his lips, gathering as much as he can. He can’t help but groan a little at the sensation when he wipes his face, having to go over it two or three times before his eyes are clear enough to blink open. That was, like, a _lot_ of spunk - and Tyler’s no stranger to spunk getting in places - but it’s pretty gratifying to know that he can make Jamie come his brains out. And, actually, speaking of -

Jamie’s watching him when he finally emerges with a clean face, smiling softly as Tyler does his best to wipe down his beard. It’s a bit of a lost cause; he’ll have to jump in the shower before they head down to team breakfast - he has _some_ standards, at least. Even though he’s still languid and slow-moving from his orgasm, eyes half-lidded, Jamie makes an effort to shift up the bed a bit and give him some more room.

He gestures vaguely between them, his cheeks still a little blotchy and pink. “You can, um - do you want to rub off on me?”

There’s no way Jamie misses the way his cock twitches in his shorts in a stupidly obvious answer. He’s been hard since he got his mouth on Jamie, since those words of praise ran like hot liquid down his spine and into his gut. His erection had started to flag a bit - come is hot, but wiping come off one’s face is decidedly a little _less_ hot - but now it’s back at full mast, the pink head just barely peeking up from underneath his waistband.

“Yeah,” Tyler breathes, shifting closer on his knees so he can nudge apart Jamie’s thighs again. He slips his boxer-briefs down as he does so, flushing hot and shivering at the same time as Jamie’s eyes drop to his exposed cock. His pupils do that thing again, where they get dark and focused and it’s kind of a lot, to be under the sun-like beam of Jamie’s full attention.

He’s not going to last long with Jamie’s eyes on him like this.

It only takes a few moments for him to find a rhythm, slotting his cock in the vee of Jamie’s hip alongside his softening one. His skin’s still damp with sweat, and between that and the copious precome Tyler keeps leaking - _really_ , just everything he does with Jamie turns him on like a flipped switch at this point - it’s an easy glide, one that fills the room with wet sounds soon enough.

Tyler lets himself get sloppy; his jaw drops as he pants, lips wet because he keeps licking them - and he can’t help it, not with Jamie looking like he does _right there._ The sheen of sweat on his chest and arms just barely catches the light filtering into the room, his hair falling into his face. He doesn’t push it back - in fact, it looks like he’s far too concentrated on watching Tyler take his pleasure to even think of it.

“ _Jamie_ ,” Tyler moans, blinking the sweat out of his eyes as best as he can - because he’s not letting go of the vice-like grip he’s got on Jamie’s hips, forearms straining, the only thing still keeping him upright. There must be something in the thready, deep whine of his voice - besides how thoroughly fucked his throat sounds - that spurs Jamie to reach out for him, to finally get his hands on his skin. He skims his palms up the sides of Tyler’s flexing thighs, slowly but surely, just feeling. Jamie keeps his gaze riveted on Tyler’s face, though, gently exploring purely through touch.

After a few moments his hands sweep up and around, and Tyler swears colorfully when he realizes Jamie’s true target. God, he’s thought about this - how good it would feel to have Jamie’s big hands spread across his ass, cupping the muscle and kneading with this thick fingers. It’s like - he knows they aren’t psychic, as much as Razor and the commentators like to go on about how they know where the other is on the ice. But in this moment, it’s hard to chalk it up to just _chemistry,_ how perfectly Jamie gives him exactly what he needs.

His thrusts become erratic, a low-pitched whine filling the room that takes longer than it should for Tyler to realize is coming from deep within his own chest. Jamie doesn’t look away so he can’t either, even when Jamie starts to rhythmically squeeze his ass in time with Tyler’s thrusts, and it’s so much, it’s too much.

Tyler’s elbows crumple underneath him and he collapses forward into Jamie’s chest. Everywhere they touch it burns, sending hot shivers across the length of Tyler’s skin, down his spine. His mouth lands somewhere near Jamie’s collarbone, and with those hands still kneading his ass and encouraging him to thrust, his cock trapped between their bodies - it only feels natural to open his mouth and lave a hot line up and down Jamie’s neck, exploring everything he can reach with his mouth.

Jamie makes a soft sound in his throat underneath him and then murmurs in encouragement, “C’mon Ty, yeah, that’s it, I’ve got you,” and Tyler can only groan in response, keeping his mouth busy by sucking a mark at the pulse-point of Jamie’s strong neck. Between the steady stream of words in his ears and Jamie’s wide palms spanning his ass, encouraging him to grind into the narrow space between their bodies, Tyler can feel himself teetering towards the edge. A hot flush runs through his body and his muscles lock as he thrusts once, twice, three times more.

He bites down when he comes, chasing the sensation and riding it as best he can as the groove of Jamie’s hip gets slick and wet with come. Tyler pushes through it, hips snapping and dragging as he empties himself in shuddery pulses, tremors running through his legs and down his arms to his fingertips.

Fuck, _fuck._ What is it about Jamie that makes this always just so - intense?

And Jamie - god, _Jamie_ \- only grunts a little when the force of his teeth becomes too much, smoothing his hands up from Tyler’s ass to his nape, along the damp planes of his back. He tangles his hands in the curling hair there, and somehow - somehow that’s exactly what he needs, too, as Tyler winds down from the high and unclenches, slumping further into Jamie’s body.

Belatedly, Tyler presses a few wet kisses to the line of Jamie’s shoulder that he kind of mauled. When he can squint his eyes open again, he surveys the damage and - _wow_. Uh. That’s going to be quite the mark.

Jamie chuckles. “Don’t apologize,” he says, loosening his grip in Tyler’s hair as he moves to sit up. When he pulls back far enough to meet Jamie’s eyes he finds that he’s smiling, warm and amused and with a little spark of something like coyness.

“The boys are gonna chirp you,” Tyler warns him, once he can get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. Because Jamie looks so good like this - he feels so good like this, pressed together like they are in a way that isn’t frantic and urgent and sexual. It’s something more than just the platonic kind of handsy that Tyler gets sometimes, and he doesn’t really know what to do with it besides try and relax and enjoy it.

Jamie half-shrugs, lips pressed together in a wry smile. “I’m the captain, I can give as good as I get.” Tyler smirks and opens his mouth to affirm that yes, Jamie _can_ give as good as he gets, but Jamie rolls his eyes and beats him to the punch. “Besides - it’s good to let them gang up on me once in a while. Makes for good team bonding.”

Tyler waggles his eyebrows. “As your A, I feel bound to tell you that I’d still defend your honor.”

That makes Jamie beam at him, all dimples and bright cow-eyes, but his _aww_ quickly turns into an _eugh_ when Tyler reluctantly pulls away, and the mess of come and sweat between their bodies smears and dribbles on his belly even further.

“I’m not sure you can talk much about my honor while I look like - this,” Jamie gestures to the mess on his skin, and - okay, _objectively_ , semen is pretty gooey and gross. But Tyler’s eyes follow the motion of Jamie’s hand down his chest - muscular, even if it isn’t as cut as Tyler’s own, flushed and damp and framed by his thick arms. His gaze tracks all the way down Jamie’s prone form, down to the trail of hair below his navel and the wet white puddles and smears he’d left on Jamie’s skin. Even soft, Jamie’s cock is thick and girthy and - well, Jamie invited him to look his fill, so he can’t really blame Tyler for having the reaction that he does.

“Debauched is a good look on you, honor or no,” Tyler says, face heating. He climbs out from between Jamie’s knees to sit on the edge of the bed, glancing back to Jamie’s face to find him smiling and pleased, not having moved an inch. Why do they have to get out of bed, again?

It takes a moment for him to heave himself to standing, knees wobbling a little - it feels like a few of his bones dissolved with that orgasm. “You’re probably gonna wanna shower before we go down to breakfast, though. Not sure everyone else would appreciate that look on you as much as I do.”

Jamie laughs, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to see me like this, anyways.”

And yeah, of course - the team sees each other naked all the time, but context is key: soft dicks and naked bodies are different from post-sex, evidence-of-the-act bodies. There’s something in the way Jamie says it, meeting his eyes and unabashed in his own nakedness that - that makes Tyler’s stomach flip. Because that’s what he’s been thinking, too: this is something just for them - not just because Tyler doesn’t need anything else when he’s sleeping with Jamie, apparently, but because he can’t imagine doing this with anyone else _but_ Jamie.

The words so thoroughly rock his world that Jamie’s up and out of bed before he’s realized, smacking his ass on the way to the bathroom to shower. Tyler glares at him, but Jamie’s still just grinning.

Huh. Tyler may or may not have a problem.

 

By the time they’re changing to get on the ice in San Jose to practice, the mark on Jamie’s collar has blossomed to a rich pink-red with hints of purple. It’s not small, and it’s not subtle. Jamie gets chirped the second he has his shirt off.

Tyler doesn’t really defend Jamie’s honor, because they don’t actually have a lot of time to dick around in the locker room before hitting the ice. That’s what he tells himself, at least: really, it’s because despite the ribbing and chirping at his expense, and how flushed pink his ears get, Jamie looks sort of secretly pleased at having the bite on his skin, even if it means extra attention from the guys. Hell, maybe it’s even _because_ of the extra attention.

Anyways, Tyler doesn’t end up defending Jamie’s right to get bitten as much as he fucking _wants_ to be bitten, even though that’s totally what he believes. Because he catches the corner of Jamie’s eyes, just before they go on the ice, and Jamie’s slipped his glove off to press his bare fingers into the collar of his practice jersey, dipping them in against his bare skin, and Tyler _gets_ it. He knows this: the need to feel the lingering sting and the heat of blood underneath his skin.

He just didn’t believe that Jamie would be the kind of guy to do that, too.

Jamie’s eyes go liquid and dark right there in the tunnel, as they file into the empty arena to warm up. And that’s - yeah. Tyler nearly chokes on his own spit. If nothing else, the look Jamie’s giving him isn’t just one of acknowledgement: it’s a look of promise.

Tyler shivers, and there’s an echo of a pulse on his inner thigh, where the mark Jamie had left is only just starting to fade.

 

Jamie gets a hat trick in San Jose.

The Sharks aren’t like an _official_ rival, but it’s kind of a thing. This game has felt electric since the beginning. Maybe it’s because if they win this, even the doubters and the hockey numbers people will acknowledge that this really is a _win streak_ the likes of which they haven’t seen for a while. Maybe it’s because he’s been within touching distance of Jamie all day, through the morning skate and pre-game prep and now, at his side on the bench. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been able to forget the mark that’s on Jamie’s skin, just barely hidden from the thousands of fans in arena tonight by just the green-and-white layer of Jamie’s jersey, somewhere between his collar and the C over his heart.

Maybe it’s the little glances Jamie has been giving him all night, the ones that are determined and confident and heavy with something Tyler can’t quite put his finger on.

Whatever it is, it has him on edge and with his heart in his throat from the first shift, playing with everything he’s got. And it pays off during the first power play: the puck tips off Radulov’s stick onto his, and Tyler whips it to Jamie on his wing reflexively. The horn blares in his ears and Jamie’s eyes find his from across the ice, grinning and bright-eyed as all 200 pounds of Rads collides with him to celly.

Jamie probably can’t hear the compliments Tyler shouts at him over the rest of the boys’ cheering, taking their turns tapping Jamie’s helmet and back and beaming at each other because _this_ is how you fuckin’ start off a game.

But their eyes still catch and hold, for two seconds that feel far longer than that, and when Tyler leans in to tap their helmets together forehead-to-forehead he can feel Jamie’s heavy exhale warm on his face.

Yeah. There’s something different about tonight.

The second goal comes scant moments before the end of the second period, tying them up with the Sharks - who, to be honest, met their first-period goal with admirable fire and grit after the intermission. It’s a short-lived tie, though, once Jamie gets the puck on his stick and sprints with it, past the blue line and the circles. He feints left and then dumps the puck to the right, slipping it through the five-hole in a beauty of a shot that makes Tyler’s pulse jump in his throat.

And, well. At this point who’s to say if it’s the really fucking good hockey or just Jamie that turns him on like nothing else.

Knowing him, probably both.

Tyler’s face feels hot, even in the slight chill of the arena, when he collides with Jamie and tucks into his side for the celly. They’re jostled even further into each other’s space when Ritchie and Johns and Radulov skate up and into their little circle, grins wide and eyes bright.

“Hatty watch,” Tyler calls, sing-song, and it’s a chorus that the guys quickly pick up.

“Cap’s on hatty waaaatch,” Johns draws out the word, reaching in for a fist-bump. Jamie laughs and obliges him, ginning past the mouthguard slanted out the side of his mouth.

He looks even more pleased than usual as the group breaks to play out the last minute of the period, heading back to center ice for the face-off. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, of course, but Tyler’s gotten pretty good at reading Jamie, as his best friend and now - bedmate? He doesn’t manage to catch Jamie’s eye for more than a second before the face-off, though, and then they’re off, working to run down the clock heading into the final period.

Tyler doesn’t even have to lead into it, when they’re clomping back down the tunnel to the locker room, away from the sea of teal for the intermission. Half their conversations feel like they’re just picking up from where they left off, anyways. “Don’t stress about making it happen, man. Just watch me for the puck and be ready to keep those hands hot.”

Jamie smiles, and now that they’re off the ice and pulling their helmets off, Tyler can see the nervous energy and excitement warring on his face. He wants the team to do well and to win more than he wants the hat trick for himself - but hey, when the hockey’s good, you don’t ask too many questions. “Think you can get it for me?”

“You’re gonna get it yourself, but I’m gonna do my best to make it happen,” Tyler promises, and he’s not even thinking about the superstition thing they’ve been doing, not even thinking about how seeing Jamie score goals and push guys into the boards makes him run hot. Even though it _totally_ does.

(Jamie hasn’t fought since they’ve started this thing but oh, boy. That’s going to be a whole thing when it happens, Tyler just knows it. And not _if -_ definitely _when._ Because if Jamie is protective of him when they’re just best friends and lineys and teammates, well, now- )

But the more he thinks about it, the more it’s true: he wants this for Jamie because Jamie _deserves_ it. He deserves to play fuckin’ good hockey, and get hat tricks and be on a team that supports him and wins with him and gets him goddamn Stanley Cups. And Tyler’s going to do everything in his power to make that happen tonight.

If there’s an added bonus of the quality of the hockey ricocheting into their sex lives, well. He isn’t going to say no to _that_ either.

But that’s not his primary motive, and Jamie must see some of that in his face. He claps Tyler on the shoulder with the bulky weight of his gloved hand, his smile going small and soft for only Tyler to see.

“Yeah,” he says, waiting a half-second before they go into the locker room and join the rest of the guys. “You will. I know you will.”

Tyler’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he almost can’t breathe for the sudden force of the tightness in his throat. He hangs back a second longer, his feet unwilling to move forward, and Jamie’s hand slides off his shoulder as he keeps walking, flashing Tyler one final smile before turning to face the team. Predictably, they’re tapping their sticks on the bottom of their stalls when he comes in, towards the end of the line of guys, already hooting and calling for the hat trick.

And Tyler - Tyler ducks his head, sits in his stall and focuses on re-taping his stick so he can process the whirl of emotions caught up in his chest.

This isn’t just about luck or superstition anymore.

It was, at first - well, _maybe_ it was about superstition. The more he thinks about it, all Tyler can see is Jamie in his mind’s eye: Jamie after that crushing loss at home, shoulders slumped and that bad, unnatural quiet that he gets. And then Jamie above him, finally smiling - Jamie _laughing_ at his stupid mid-sex jokes, Jamie looking wrecked and fond as he curls a hand into the hair at the base of his skull, Jamie riding the confidence of win after win and Jamie -

Jamie’s eyes full of quiet trust, looking at Tyler like he’s everything - like he’s the moon and hockey and _more_.

Tyler’s better at hockey than he is with feelings and words, but _this_ \- even this is clear enough for him to put a word to. This thing with Jamie means _far_ more to him than just trading luck back and forth.

God, just - god fucking _damnit_. Did this emotional revelation have to happen at a game, between periods during an intermission? Tyler snorts to himself wryly, causing Devin to glance over at him and raise his eyebrows.

At least he didn’t figure out his emotions like this on the goddamn _ice_.

He licks his lips, glancing a look at Jamie - he’s pink and flushed from the attention the rest of the team keeps giving him, scratching idly at the side of his neck - only _inches_ from the mark Tyler had left on his skin. Christ, _everything_ about him right now seems designed to make Tyler’s stomach roll around and twist itself into knots. This Jamie looks nearly as perfect as the post-orgasm Jamie he’d gotten to see in bed this morning. Surrounded by teammates, owning the C on his chest - yeah. Tyler’s into _every_ version of Jamie, it seems.

It’s probably been just _Jamie_ for a while.

The bell sounds all too soon - how did those eighteen minutes go by so quickly? - and they’re filing back out towards the ice, a solid stream of white-and-green in their away jerseys. Tyler knows he should be able to hear the roar of the crowd as he gets closer to the tunnel entrance, the blaring of music and the echoing stomps of skate-clad feet down the hallway, but there’s still a persistent ringing in his ears. It’s like he’s moving underwater, dizzy with the need to breathe. But this dizziness is all from the heart, not from his lungs, and he can feel his eyes glassing over as the thoughts stream through his head.

 _C’mon, Seggy, get it together,_ he tells himself. There’s still a final period of hockey to play.

For better or worse, he’s able to compartmentalize pretty well once he’s on the ice. It’s good because - well, there’s hockey to play, a game to win, his teammates counting on him. But every time their shift ends and he’s back on the bench, panting and sweating, there’s a tickle in the back of his mind, the thoughts trying to push their way to the front. Tyler just _knows_ that for all he’s putting all his energy into focusing now, he isn’t going to be able to avoid having this conversation with himself forever. He’ll be lucky if he’s able to sleep tonight, with all the thoughts churning through his brain. Not to mention -

He shakes his head, grabbing for his gatorade and fervently shutting a door on that train of thought. Twelve minutes left to keep their lead and beat the Sharks. That’s all it’s gonna take, and his team - Jamie - deserves the best from him. He can’t let anything be a distraction, not even the captain himself.

Hockey. He’s here to play hockey.

They get a power play two shifts later, when one of the Sharks makes an awful slashing play on Klingberg. And, apparently, that’s all it takes - with five-on-four they get possession and then keep it, weaving through the Sharks’ defense like they’re running drills in Frisco. Janmark digs the puck out from behind the net and shuttles it right to Tyler’s tape at center ice, through the moving bodies and sticks of the defensemen.

The only sound he can hear is the pounding of his blood in his ears, muscles tense as he glances from Janmark to Shoresy to Jamie, looking for an opening. And when he locks eyes with Jamie, forty feet across the ice, he knows - he just _knows_. This is going to be it.

Jamie doesn’t need to nod, doesn’t need to shout for the puck. Tyler _thwips_ his stick, all muscle memory, a shot that slices towards Jamie with perfect speed and accuracy. He’s ready for it - he pulls back his own stick, winds up to send it through the air with a sharp smack against his tape. Tyler doesn’t see it bounce against the netting but the goal horn is music to his ears - though it’s nothing compared to the feeling in his chest when Jamie looks his way first, finds his eyes from across the ice and _beams_ at him.

Tyler doesn’t even feel himself move, feather-light on the high of Jamie’s goal and fucking _hat trick_ , oh my god - but he collides with Jamie at a pretty good speed. It sends them sliding towards the boards, Jamie knocking backwards into the glass with Tyler pressed against his front, arms wrapped around him and face tucked into his shoulder.

“Fuckin’ _right,”_ he shouts into Jamie’s ear over the din, a shiver of pleasuring going down his spine at Jamie’s delighted laugh. He squeezes all the tighter when Shoresey and Janmark and Klinger get to them, forming a mass of excited cellying around Jamie as the hats start to land on the ice.

Jamie’s flushed and pleased in his arms, not letting go even when the rest of the boys break apart around them to start gathering hats. From his close Tyler can smell the sweat coming off him, cataloguing how the corners of his eyes crinkle and his left cheek dimples just so when he’s grinning so wide. A day’s worth of stubble and a hat trick celly look really good on Jamie Benn, and Tyler’s heart isn’t just pounding from the play.

It hits him like a blow to the chest: they’re so close, centimeters away, eyes locked and beaming, and with every cell in his body he wants to lean in, close the distance and kiss Jamie. He doesn’t care who sees, doesn’t care that they’re on the middle of the ice and in the middle of the game - he _wants to kiss Jamie_ , with a force that nearly sweeps him off his feet. It’s a miracle he keeps standing, honestly, a shiver running down his spine at how obvious and honest and right it feels to think this, to see the urge within himself and put a name to it.

He wants to kiss Jamie. He really, really wants to kiss Jamie. That was a beauty of a hat trick, and Jamie’s face is right there, and he _deserves_ to be kissed.

Somehow, amazingly, his face doesn’t give his thoughts away, because Jamie just squeezes him one more time, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts.

“Knew we could do it,” Jamie says, loud enough for only him to hear. His arms unwind slowly from around Tyler’s waist, lingering as they push off and skate towards the bench to receive the round of fist-bumps from the rest of the team. “Never doubted us for a second, Seggy.”

The warm something in Tyler’s chest has nothing to do with the fact that he’s practically sweating through his jersey. He can’t help but grin at Jamie in return, swatting at his ass when he finally lets go to skate down the line first. “We make a great team, eh?”

“Really, that goal was all you,” Jamie insists, once they sit down at the end of the bench and watch the replay, reveling in how the score ticks up from 3-2 to 4-2. He wouldn’t have said that there were that many Stars fans in the house, but the stadium is roaring. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Well,” Tyler ducks his head, hoping that his ears aren’t as pink as the thinks they are, for all that they’re burning. “Anything for you, Captain.”

Jamie gives him a look; the smile doesn’t leave his face but something around his eyes softens, the crease at the corner of his mouth that appears when he grins smoothing out. His eyes are dark and wide already, from the adrenaline and excitement of the game, but there’s a warm intensity there that wasn’t present a moment before, something that Tyler can’t put his finger on that makes his heart swell. And, okay - it _does_ stir a familiar feeling in his gut, too. But Jamie just leans over and pats him on the knee, letting his gloved hand rest there for a few extra moments before reaching for his water bottle, turning his attention back to the play on the jumbotron.

He knew tonight was going to be different, but Tyler wasn’t quite expecting whatever this is. But it’s - good. Being at Jamie’s side, giving Jamie what he needs - that’s always good.

They win, of course. The momentum of Jamie’s hat trick powers them through the rest of the third period, and they manage to get away scot-free without any other penalties that would risk them their two-goal lead. Jamie’s the first star of the game, and Tyler just knows he’ll be on deck for all the interviews - and that awful cowboy hat - during the postgame, but he absolutely deserves it. He can attribute Tyler all he want for the assist, but he made the hat trick happen himself. That was totally just some grade-A Benn Magic.

It’s habit by now, to wait until the boys have rounded themselves up and headed out ahead of them, until the media circus around the presser has died down and he and Jamie can walk out together. It takes an extra long time tonight, because of Jamie’s hat trick. He deserves the attention - really, they were some fuckin’ goals, and the hat trick is an unexpected delight in addition to the win over the Sharks. But it means everyone wants a piece of him and Jamie has to hold court and put on the hat, beaming and blushing and mumbling his way through the praise showered down on him by the reporters and the other guys on press duty tonight.

Tyler isn’t one of them, but that’s okay. He’s going to tell Jamie to his face exactly what he thinks of that hat trick.

No one questions it, the way he lingers in his stall and idly fiddles with his phone as Jamie finishes up. It gives him time to think, actually, while he watches him giving the interviews - and once his brain starts down that path, Tyler finds he really can’t stop himself. Between the dizzying thoughts he’d had during the second-period intermission and the blinding, urgent desire to just lean in and _kiss him_ , it’s probably, like, _not_ the best idea to hook up with Jamie tonight. There are all sorts of feelings that have taken up residence in his chest that he should sort through first, probably.

But he can’t let a hat trick like that go unrewarded, not when Jamie’s been giving him sidelong glances between questions that Tyler’s been helpless to ignore. So he waits out the stream of questions and Jamie’s adorable answers, notices all the little things that make him stammer and flush and comb his damp hair out of his face for the eighth time in the past twenty minutes.

Jamie deserves the praise and he _definitely_ deserves hat-trick sex - the more he turns it over in his mind, the more Tyler’s certain of it, actually. He can keep his weird dumb heart thing under wraps for tonight and - and figure out how to tell Jamie that this has grown into _something else_ for him another time, when there isn’t something so big to celebrate.

Hell if he knows how to have that conversation, though. How do you tell the dude you’re best friends with, the one you’ve been banging for two solid weeks under the pretense of _just buddies_ and _hockey superstition_ that, like, you’d also really maybe like to kiss his face and hold hands with him on the regular? Not to mention that Tyler already thinks of Jamie as his dog sons’ second dad, and there’s the way Jamie’s always the one that knows when he’s having a bad day and drives them to Starbucks, and -

“Sorry about that,” Jamie nudges him with his shoulder, raising his eyebrows when it takes Tyler more than a second to shake himself from his thoughts. “You ready to head back?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And even now, the quiet between them is _comfortable_ , as they find their way out of the maze that is the SAP Center and back in the direction of the hotel. The bus didn’t wait for them, but it’s been long enough since the game ended that it’s not hard to call an Uber to the player entrance. They sit close enough together that Tyler could reach out with his pinky and brush along the side of Jamie’s hand, or put his hand over Jamie’s, or put his hand on his thigh - but he doesn’t end up doing any of those things. Every single option crosses his mind, though, and there’s no way Jamie doesn’t catch him looking. It’s not the California heat that makes the car stifling and tense by the end of the ride - though not in a bad way, exactly.

Tyler’s heart is pounding harder now than any of the other times that they’ve done this, and he knows what’s coming. Well, hopefully. As much as his stomach is twisting - pleasantly? With nerves? He can’t even tell anymore, what are feelings - he’s still looking forward to every minute he can spend with Jamie, at another chance get his hands on Jamie’s skin and maybe, like, show him -

“Hey,” Jamie cuts through his thoughts, reaching over to squeeze Tyler’s knee. He blinks, shifting in his seat as he comes back to himself - they’re pulling up to the hotel, into the pool of the streetlights at the front door. “You okay? You’re unusually quiet.”

Jamie’s palm is warm through the thin layer of his suit pants, and the earnest, honest look in his eyes - visible even in the half-darkness, god, it’s less of the Concerned Captain thing he does and more of the Checkin’-In-On-My-Best-Bro-Cow-Eyes - makes his stomach flip. It feels like the heat of his hand travels all the way down Tyler’s leg to his toes, and up to his spine. Well, also, Tyler can feel himself blushing. But that’s pretty normal in Jamie’s presence at this point.

“Yeah,” he responds after a beat, licking his lips. It’s not hard to summon a smile, not when Jamie looks so cute and dorky and concerned. It makes every fond part inside Tyler’s chest go a little warm and gooey. He pats Jamie’s hand on top of his knee with his own. “I’m good. Just - _bro_. The _hat trick_.”

The grin that splits Jamie’s face is wide and pleased, and he dips his head a little, fingers flexing on Tyler’s leg again. “Yeah, well,” he says, scratching through the short hair at the back of his head with his free hand. “Your passes just -”

“Mm, nope, nuh-uh,” Tyler shakes his head, laughing when Jamie looks up, indignant at his interruption. “You don’t get to share the glory and give me credit on the assists. That hat trick was all you, baby.”

Jamie flushes and rolls his eyes, his hand leaving Tyler’s knee so that he can unclip his seatbelt. He still feels deliciously warm all over. “The way hockey _works_ , Tyler Paul Seguin, is that you get credit on assists.”

Tyler grins, biting his lip as he slides out of the car. He fiddles with the buttons on his suit-jacket for the extra seconds it takes for Jamie to come around and join him at his side, so they can walk into the hotel together, shoulder-to-shoulder. Heh, though actually - he shouldn’t really bother with doing up his buttons again for the two-minute ride up to the hotel room. There’s no question in his mind at this point about where this is going.

“Okay, that is true,” he replies, once they’re in the lobby and out of earshot of the desk staff. “But tonight you’re going to let me compliment you. Aggressively.”

“Aggressive complimenting?” Jamie huffs a laugh, reaching out to press the elevator up button. “You’re barely capable of chirping, so this I _gotta_ see. Do your best at complimenting me, Seggy.”

Well, with a challenge like _that..._

It’s the perfect opportunity to lean into Jamie’s space, to exhale across the strip of bare skin at Jamie’s neck and watch the shiver of goosebumps appear on his skin. He can nearly see the moment Jamie remembers the mark he’d left, the one that’s still bright against his collarbone, only two layers of cloth away from where Tyler’s mouth is hovering on the pretense of whispering in his ear.

“Oh, I plan to,” Tyler purrs, low and soft, and it’s probably a good thing that the elevator chimes and the doors open right then, because from the liquid-dark look that’s taken over Jamie’s eyes, Tyler is about eight seconds away from being slammed against the nearest wall.

Huh. Maybe it _is_ too bad that it’s time for them to get in the elevator.

They keep their hands off each other on the ride up, though not from lack of wanting; Tyler can see in their mirrored reflection how Jamie’s hands keep clenching rhythmically where he has them clasped in front of him, and Tyler fidgets with his watch until he has to stuff his hands in his pockets.

It doesn’t help that the images running through his head - the thing that he _really_ wants to do in this elevator is push Jamie against one of the stupidly shiny walls and kiss him, make out until they’re all rumpled and gasping and desperate. Hell, it really would only take the forty seconds of elevator-time to get _him_ there, at this point. Jamie’s mouth has never looked so inviting.

He wouldn’t even mind if they got caught, had to jump apart like they weren’t just going at it like horny teenagers, holding hands as they escape onto their floor and giggling at the absurdity of it.

That’s not what happens, of course.

Jamie catches him staring and smirks, lips quirking up at the corner as he takes in the blush that must be staining his cheeks. Tyler reaches up to loosen the knot of his own tie, returning the smile, and they grin at each other like that, the tension between them skyrocketing, until the elevator dings again.

Tyler knows a challenge when he hears one; being competitive is part of being a good hockey player, and when it comes to their friendship, the two of them are no strangers to egging each other on. It’s amazing that part hasn’t bled over into their sex life - or whatever this thing is - yet. Well, it hasn’t any more than the superstition at the root of it. But Jamie had said the words _do your best at complimenting me_ , which is about as _hit me with your best shot_ as Tyler needs to make the first move.

Hey, Jamie got a hat trick, after all. Tyler’s gonna rock his world.

So he doesn’t waste a second in pinning Jamie against the wall just inside the door to his room, scrabbling at the collar of his jacket and shirt to get to his skin. He’s pretty sure that a button pops off under the force of his hands, pinging against the mirror on the opposite wall, but Jamie only laughs, breathless, and pushes his hips into Tyler’s. He’s already getting hard, a hot line slotted against his own filling cock, so clearly they’re doing something right.

When the mark on Jamie’s collar is finally exposed to the air Tyler fixes his mouth on it, licks until it’s wet and shiny and pink under the attention and Jamie’s swearing a litany in his ear. His chest is already starting to heave and tremble and Tyler slides his hands into the sides of his shirt, settling his hands high on Jamie’s skin, over his ribs. His heart is pounding nearly as hard as Tyler’s is, and they’ve barely gotten started.

Once Jamie’s starting to whine low in his throat, and his hips have started to hitch and rock against Tyler’s in search of friction - that’s when Tyler pulls away from his neck, admiring his handiwork. (Or mouthwork, rather - is mouthwork a word?) Where there isn’t a darkening hickey, Jamie’s skin is bright and raw from beard-burn, damp from his open mouth. Tyler nearly takes a step back, leaving him propped up against the wall and breathless like that. Fuck, what a picture he makes. He’d buy a calendar of just this: Jamie, halfway to wrecked, hard against the seams of his dress pants and totally still dressed, aside from the flushed mess Tyler made of his neck and left shoulder.

Heh. Jamie could be October, for how much it looks like he’s been necking with a vampire.

“Tyler, what-” Jamie pants, pupils blown wide, but his words dissolve into a groan as Tyler leans in again, scrapes his chin down from Jamie’s collarbone to the center of his chest, tilting his face so that his mouth can capture one soft nipple. He’s got just a little more padding on his chest and hips and thighs than Tyler does, which makes it perfect for him to do this; he licks around Jamie’s nipple until it’s stiff and pebbled against his tongue, pert from all the attention. He palms Jamie’s shirt open even further with his other hand, spreading his fingers wide to cup the meat of his pec before seeking his other nipple with his fingers, pinching gently.

Somehow, he hasn’t done this before - Jamie’s cock has been his sole focus, which, uh, rightfully so. But oh, does Tyler like this - nose in the sloping vee of Jamie’s breastbone, his faint smattering of chest hair tickling Tyler’s cheeks as he switches sides, gets his right nipple as wet and sensitive as its twin.

He’s always liked Jamie’s chest - why hasn’t he done this before, again?

The insistent push of a cock against his hip and the increasing volume of Jamie groaning his name pulls him out of his single-mindedness, though. He meets Jamie’s eyes as he tugs his shirt out of his pants so that he can get his hands on his hips properly, using the leverage to get in a good slow, dirty grind of their dicks against each other.

Jamie’s lashes flutter a bit and his breath catches in his chest. All of this is a _super_ fucking good look on him.

“I liked it,” Tyler admits, blurting out the words because they keep ricocheting back and forth in his brain, like a refrain to a song he keeps hearing. “Marking you up, and then - and then everyone seeing it.”

“Yeah?” Jamie pants, like he didn’t notice the mysterious absence of Tyler _defending his honor_ , or the many, many looks Tyler shot him while his shirt was off. Like it didn’t also do something for _him_ , too. He grins, and Tyler’s heart trips over itself somewhere behind his ribs. “That the exhibitionist in you? Or-”

“Fuck you,” Tyler laughs, but he doesn’t deny it. Maybe that was part of it - there’s still way too many feelings for him to muddle through to make heads or tails of it. Either way, it was _Jamie_. He licks his lips, smirking. “Do you want me to continue to worship your beautiful body to celebrate that hat trick, or should I go jerk off in a mirror and-”

Grinning, Jamie anchors his hands on Tyler’s hips and reels him in, pressing them together until they’re truly chest-to-chest and one of his legs easily slots between Tyler’s. “By all means, keep going,” he says, fingers flexing as he rocks more intentionally now. The drag of their cloth-covered erections is a delicious burn but not _nearly_ enough; a few moments of experimental frotting only gets them as far as panting even harder at each other and letting go to scrabble at their belts.

“Bed,” Tyler grunts, fumbling with his belt buckle in his rush to get it open. He has to step back from Jamie to get enough room for his hands; he shivers a little, once he’s outside the immediate circle of Jamie’s natural warmth, and almost chuckles to himself. They’re both running hot, but he can’t wait to get all up against Jamie, skin on skin. When his belt and fly finally give up the ghost - his hands are trembling a little, which he tries not to look at too closely - he lets his pants pool on the floor, stepping out of them and getting to work on his shirt. Jamie’s not far behind him, already bare-chested since Tyler did most of that himself.

“Oh, so you don’t tear off your own buttons?” he chirps, and Tyler knocks their shoulders together. It makes Jamie laugh, even though he staggers - he’s only got one shoe on, working on the other.

“If you’re gonna clap back the whole time, I’m gonna have to find a way to shut you up,” Tyler says in warning, though since he can’t keep the smirk off his face, Jamie just giggles again as he kicks away his other shoe. God forbid either of them take this too seriously.

Then again, it’s not a surprise - everything they do together is fun, and the sex is no exception. Actually, without the humor to cut through the tension, Tyler’s pretty sure he’d have come in his pants by now.

By then he’s managed to get to his last button and peel off the button-down, flinging it across the desk chair and swaggering towards the wide bed, aware of Jamie’s eyes tracking his every movement. He adds an extra swivel to his hips as he deposits himself on the mattress, crossing his legs demurely at the ankle and leaning back on his elbows. The pose makes his back arch a little, the full length of his chest and abs and cock straining his boxer-briefs on display. Jamie kind of gapes at him, his hands stilling as his gaze skims across Tyler’s body, eyes darkening impossibly further.

Tyler shivers, but not from the cool air. Being on the receiving end of this kind of look is something he _still_ hasn’t gotten used to.

But Jamie cracks a smile, once his eyes dip low enough, and he finishes stripping perfunctorily. “Gonna leave your socks on for this, Seggy? That’s quite the look.”

“Good thing you’re still into it,” Tyler counters, wriggling his toes. He’d gotten so distracted he hadn’t even remembered to take them off yet. “You joining this party or not?”

Jamie huffs. “We can’t all be as efficient as you in getting naked. It’s not fair when it’s, like, your favorite thing, eh?”

“My favorite thing is _you_ naked,” he rolls his eyes because _duh_ , that shouldn’t be a surprise - but Jamie’s eyes are locked on his face, and, oh. Maybe those are words he shouldn’t have said out loud. “Now _c’mere_ , let me celly all up on that body.”

His grabby hands make Jamie smile all bright and amused, and the bed dips under his weight when he crawls over to Tyler. There’s a few beats where he hovers above him, not quite uncertain - just looking his fill, taking his time in cataloging every bare inch of Tyler’s skin, apparently - and Tyler basks in the attention, stomach twisting and sort of enjoying the way Jamie’s roaming gaze makes his flush travel further down his chest. But really, it’s time to get this show on the road: Jamie’s cock is like, right, there, hanging heavy and full between his legs, and Tyler has a hunger.

In a move he probably couldn’t reproduce if he tried, he hooks one ankle around Jamie’s calf and a hand on his shoulder, flipping them with a roll that would’ve been graceful if it hadn’t cause them to bounce the mattress so much, sending the stack of pillows at the head of the bed scattering. The sheets bunch under Jamie and Tyler lands with his knee _centimeters_ from Jamie’s balls - as it is, they kinda flail around each other so much that Jamie catches him in the side with his elbow. The air’s knocked out of both of them - Jamie, from smacking back-first into the bed and the surprise of it, Tyler from his own bad reflexes. But it’s - it mostly works, and it’s stupid enough that it sets both of them off laughing.

“What was that, eh?” Jamie gasps, settling his hands on Tyler’s hips. He can feel every shaking laugh that bubbles up from Jamie’s chest like this, and actually, that’s pretty nice. His eyes are creased with mirth, face still pink, and - fuck, yeah, that’s it. That’s the tell-tell buoyant, swelling-happy feeling in his chest again. Tyler’s face is kinda starting to hurt from grinning so much, and he fits his hands on Jamie’s shoulders. It’s partly so that he can adjust himself and sit properly astride Jamie’s lap, but also so that he can feel up his biceps. They always feel _exactly_ as good as they look in the locker room.

“Well,” Tyler draws out the word dramatically, wiggling his hips a little so Jamie grunts below him - and so he can feel the way Jamie’s cock twitches, hard and hot trapped where it is underneath his own. Mmm, yeah, that’s it. “I wanted to be on top because I kinda wanted to ride you?”

Jamie’s breath hitches and stares up at him, mouth going slack and eyes going even wider and darker. Tyler barrels on like he didn’t feel Jamie’s hard-on surge underneath him with renewed interest. “But, like - Hat Trick Blowjobs are kind of a traditional thing?”

He can’t resist shifting a little more, thighs flexing as he pretends to keep getting comfortable, barely restraining a smirk at Jamie’s reactions. The fingers at Tyler’s hips squeeze, drifting down to play with the hem of his too-tight boxer briefs and cup the muscles of his ass. The flush across Jamie’s cheeks has only gotten deeper, and between the pink spreading to his ears and the beard-burn rubbed into his skin across like, half his chest, Jamie looks good enough to eat. The way he squirms at Tyler’s words, clearly as turned on as he is by the thought, doesn’t hurt either.

“I - I mean,” Jamie licks his lips, nostrils flaring and hips twitching, rutting a little against Tyler’s weight, “we’ve kind of thoroughly covered blowjobs already?”

Tyler tilts his head, considering. “Fair point,” he says, grinding down on Jamie one more time, since he can’t resist being a tease. Sparks light up his spine at the sensation of Jamie’s cock rubbing up on the underside of his own, and yeah - it’s time to change things up. He’s got a pretty good idea, too.

With reluctance, he gets up onto his knees, kneeling over Jamie and giving him plenty of room between his bent legs. He has to tense his thighs and abs to stay upright on the soft mattress, and Jamie clearly notices the extra effort; it’s enough of a distraction that Tyler reaches down and light slaps one of his thighs, more for the noise than anything else. “C’mon, then. Turn over.”

It’s probably a testament to their friendship that Jamie starts to move before he even thinks to question it. He’s already twisted at the waist, leaning onto one elbow when he looks up to meet Tyler’s eyes, brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what- ”

Grinning, Tyler pushes at his hip until Jamie rolls the rest of the way onto his front, still shooting him a look of confusion and curiosity from over his shoulder. “You’ll see, Jameson. Hand me one of those pillows, eh?”

Jamie obliges, reaching back to hand one over and gathering the rest of them inwards, getting his arms around the one wedged under his shoulders so that he can comfortably watch Tyler. He’s not suspicious - though he really has every right to be, their friendship isn’t one totally devoid of pranks and bad jokes - but rather curious, content to let Tyler get his way.

For now, at least.

What Tyler wants in this moment is to look his fill: it’s not often that he gets this view. In his expert opinion, Jamie Benn is the epitome of _hate to see him go, love to watch him leave_ \- hell, he’d take Jamie over the likes of _Sidney Crosby_ when it comes to quality hockey ass. And he _knows_ quality ass when he sees it.

Where Tyler works out for the sake of staying cut and fit, because he likes having muscles and feels good using them - for hockey and for everything else - Jamie’s kind of the other way around. He follows the trainer’s directions and works out with the rest of the team and eats what the nutritionists tell him, but he doesn’t really ever lose the thin layer of softness. It’s kind of deceptive, actually, because Jamie’s still one of the strongest guys Tyler knows. Not to mention one of the league’s known fighters, when push comes to punch - Jamie knows how to throw his weight around. But it means that his thighs and ass, which are thick and strong anyways, have just a little more cushion, a little more jiggle.

And jiggle it does, when Tyler gets both of his hands on it, smoothing his palms over the round muscle to cup each cheek and play with them. Jamie’s back flexes as he settles more comfortably, his ribs moving with each breath. He twitches bodily when Tyler squeezes, pressing his fingertips into the meat of Jamie’s ass and enjoying the dense strength of the muscle, how each cheek is a perfect handful even in his admittedly large hockey-player hands.

“Enjoying yourself?” Jamie’s voice is a little muffled from where he has his face pressed into his own bicep; what Tyler can see of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose is bright and flushed from the attention. But when he slides his hands upwards, slipping his hands along the muscular planes of Jamie’s back and down again, Jamie doesn’t look away. Actually - he arches into the contact, back bowing a little to follow Tyler’s fingertips until they return to his ass. Jamie’s skin is flushed hot, blush working its way across his nape and down his neck. Tyler’s mouth goes dry when Jamie pushes his ass into his hands, rocking backwards before grinding forwards again, into the mattress.

Like he can’t tell that Tyler’s enjoying himself. Like Jamie _himself_ isn’t getting a hell of a lot turned on by this.

“I most certainly am,” Tyler smirks, swatting gently at Jamie’s left cheek. It’s light enough that it doesn’t even leave a mark, but a tremor runs through Jaime’s body at that, his hips hitching forward of their own accord. Now _that’s_ going to be something he remembers when they’re on the ice and he goes for an ass-pat after Jamie scores. “You can’t see yourself like this, Bennie, but it’s quite a view.”

Jamie hums, stretching languidly under Tyler’s palms. He ducks his head a little - and really, Tyler doesn’t know why, because this body is _nothing_ to be embarrassed about.

When it’s clear that Jamie’s not going to answer, Tyler barrels on. “Can’t stop myself, even when I know you catch me looking.”

“Don’t you like it?” Jamie tilts his head up enough that Tyler gets a glimpse at his smirk, dimpling the corner of his mouth. “Getting caught, that is.”

Tyler shivers. That’s - that’s pretty on the nose; he does like it when Jamie catches him. He likes the dark heat that pools in his stomach when Jamie meets his eyes, from across the locker room or across the ice. It’s been happening everywhere and anywhere in the last few weeks, and it’s starting to drive him nothing short of wild. “I don’t mind,” he murmurs, cupping Jamie’s ass more firmly and scooting down to find a place to settle on the bed between his knees. “Not when you look good enough to eat.”

With that he leans in, exhales a warm breath on Jamie’s bare ass, just above the crease where his cheeks meet.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jamie swears, hips shifting against the bed, writhing for some purchase or friction now that he’s finally figured out what Tyler’s been planning. His mouth waters in anticipation, unable to decide on if he wants to watch Jamie’s face or give his ass the full attention that it deserves. “Oh my god, are you - ”

The best way to shut him up and answer his question, of course, is to take care of both birds with one stone: Tyler uses his grip on Jamie’s ass to gently pull his cheeks apart and lick a broad, wet stripe as far as he can reach.

Jamie _moans_.

Tyler pulls away, but not far - far enough that he can look up over the muscular lines of Jamie’s back to read his reaction. He can’t see his face - Jamie’s got it buried in the pillow below him, though his ears and neck are still flushed a pleasant pink - but he knows well enough by now how to read Jamie’s body. Somewhere by Tyler’s knees the bed keeps moving as Jamie’s toes flex, and the muscles in his thighs twitch as Tyler keeps massaging his ass. He’s panting again, too, ribs expanding under the delicious expanse of his back, hips twitching in a subtle grind as he writhes against the mattress, cock trapped underneath him.

More than anything, he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t twist or turn so that Tyler can’t continue his ministrations. He’s not sure if Jamie’s ever done this before - something in Tyler’s gut says that he hasn’t - but either way, Tyler’s going to make sure that this is so good for him that he won’t be able to say anything but Tyler’s name.

Now that’s a thought.

Tyler tries to ignore the swell of his own cock in his underwear, squirming to get comfortable again. Jamie got a hat trick, so he deserves to get eaten out with the same single-minded determination that he used against the Sharks tonight.

He starts out slow, licking the same path his tongue first followed so that Jamie gets used to the sensation. He swipes long, broad strokes with the flat of his tongue, spreading the wetness from his mouth and just _tasting_ him. Tyler’s done this before, he knows what to expect - but it’s still so _good_ , the muskiness and sweat and taste of _Jamie_ on his tongue. He swallows thickly when he finally remembers to pull back and breathe, his heartbeat kicking up again as Jamie keeps moving against him, mostly shuddering at first but now, as he gets used to the sensations, rocking back to meet Tyler’s mouth.

God, he’s not going to be able to get enough of this.

Jamie’s whining deep in his chest when Tyler adjusts his hands, spreads his cheeks to expose him further and dives back in for more. With a slight change of the angle he’s able to wriggle his tongue against Jamie’s hole, press against it with the tip until flutters and gives and he can dip further inside. There’s gonna be all sorts of beard-burn on Jamie’s ass when they’re done with this, because neither of them can stop moving. Tyler flexes his fingers rhythmically, in time with the rhythm he’s started with his tongue, thrusting inwards and then drawing back, licking circles around his hole and playing with the twitching muscle.

“Fuck, _Christ_ ,” Jamie pants when Tyler pulls away again, resting his chin on the cushion of Jamie’s ass. He blinks as Jamie shifts underneath him, looking up as he twists enough to meet Tyler’s eyes over his shoulder. His pupils are blown wide, face so deliciously flushed. His forehead shines with a thin layer of sweat, one that’s starting to bead at the base of his neck, too. If he wasn’t so determined to stay focused on the task at hand, Tyler would be up there in a flash, stroking his fingers through Jamie’s loosening hair and getting his mouth on his lips, too, which -

Yeah, maybe there are a few reasons that it’s better that he stays down here for now. Tyler’s pretty sure that once he starts kissing Jamie he’s _never_ going to be able to stop. That would kind of throw a wrench in his plan to rim Jamie until he’s a wrecked mess. It would kind of throw a wrench in the whole plan to keep his feelings under wraps, actually, but potato _potahto_.

He keeps his eyes locked with Jamie’s and lean down again, blowing cool air across the wet skin at the crease of his ass. Jamie groans and jerks in response, the slick pucker of his hole twitching. It makes Tyler’s mouth water again - Jamie’s so sensitive here, more than anywhere else, and he wants nothing more than to see what other kinds of responses he can elicit.

He slides his chin back and forth, letting Jamie feel the rough texture of his beard and sucking a kiss on the perfect curve of his ass before moving inwards again with purpose. Jamie gasps in a breath just as Tyler reaches out with his tongue, smearing through the wetness to get right back to Jamie’s hole. He’s already starting to get looser from the attention, the muscle relaxing under Tyler’s thorough ministrations - and god, if that doesn’t feel so good against his lips. The wet noises he’s making are filthy, obscene, but it only turns him on to hear them over the near-constant sounds of Jamie’s moans. He fucking loves it when sex is loud, and sex with _Jamie_ -

Like there’s any comparison, honestly. He could die tomorrow and go to heaven happy, knowing that he’d gotten a chance to eat out Jamie Benn’s ass.

Tyler’s jaw is starting to ache but he powers through it, licking and sucking with all he’s got. And it really, really must be working; Jamie’s hips have begun to rock back into his face, riding the movement, seeking out more friction whether he means to or not. He does his best to let Jamie seek his own pleasure, moving in time with his thrusts backwards. Jamie tips between wanting to move back towards Tyler’s mouth and forwards, rutting his trapped cock against the bed. He nearly chuckles at the high whine of frustration building in Jamie’s throat above him but he’s feeling it too, the spring-tight tension winding at the base of his spine, the heat in his gut flaring and spreading. Neither of them is going to last forever like this.

“What d’you think?” Tyler pants when he pulls away for air again, latching onto Jamie’s skin again as soon as the words are out. His words slur a little and he’s not surprised - not with how punch-drunk he feels with pleasure, like all the blood in his body has taken up residence south of the border. It’s amazing he has brain cells left to think with, when Jamie looks and feels and tastes as he good as he does, right in front of him.

He licks up to the base of his spine, peppers kisses at the dimples on either side of his hips as Jamie just moans in reply. His hips move underneath Tyler’s broad hands as he twists for a better angle, craning to look over the line of his shoulder. Tyler’s stomach twists pleasantly when their eyes meet, this third time: Jamie’s glassy-eyed with pleasure and so, so pink. His hair’s totally a mess - which is incredible considering Tyler hasn’t had the chance to get his hands in it at all - and _fuck_ , does a little sweat look good on him. It’s gathering at the base of his back, where Tyler’s mouth is, his skin nice and slick and shining in the faint light from the San Jose skyline.

“Do I - what?” Jamie manages to get out, a gasp punctuating his words as Tyler sets his teeth against the skin at Jamie’s hip. He doesn’t look away, though, no matter how distracted by pleasure that he seems - his eyes are almost all pupil, dark and big and hungry, and Tyler wishes he could memorize whatever he’s been doing that makes Jamie look so deliciously wrecked. He shudders when Tyler bites - gently, not really hard enough to leave a mark - and it’s clear that they’re both thinking of the mark still fresh and flush on Jamie’s collar as they groan nearly in unison.

“This good enough for a hat trick?” Tyler asks, licking away the sting of the bite he’d just left. It’s only a faint mark, but most of Jamie’s ass is delightfully flushed at this point - either from his eager hands or mouth, or the scrape of his beard against Jamie’s pale skin. God, Tyler could do this all night, if Jamie let him - tease him open as much as he can with his mouth, moving away just when he’s getting close until Jamie’s just whining his name like a prayer.

It’s a dirty play and not fair at all, but Tyler chooses to move back to Jamie’s hole just as he opens his mouth to reply, slicking his tongue along the crease and down to the furled muscle. With his mouth already open Jamie’s powerless to stop his full-throated moan, fists clenching in the sheets at his side. Tyler’s ears ring with the sound of it - so open and honest, god, Jamie never holds anything back - and he smiles as best as he can with his mouth wide open. He’s only got one job, tonight: to make Jamie feel good, to give him exactly the kind of reward he deserves for those three beautiful goals on the ice.

And, okay. He’s going to do his damned best to convince Jamie that rimming is the way to do oral sex, because there’s no way he’s going to live in a world where he can’t get a taste of this ass on the regular.

Tyler stubbornly pushes aside the other thoughts that well to the surface after that: how making Jamie feel good like this and making him smile have somehow been re-wired in Tyler’s brain to hit the same warm, fond spot - a spot that is taking up more and more space in the forefront of his mind. How finding the right rhythm and depth with his tongue to make Jamie start to unravel is somehow easier than finding the right words, but how it’s still just an expression of the same thing. How he wants to always be able to find Jamie from across the room and know that somewhere on his body is a mark left by his lips or fingers or teeth; how, more than anything, waking up with Jamie slotted in his arms would be so _perfect_ and _right_ and -

“Yes,” Jamie groans, pent-up like the word is being forced out of him. It snaps Tyler from his thoughts, where he’d apparently been idly playing with Jamie’s ass with his tongue, lost in thought. “Fuck, yes, _Tyler -_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pants, pulling away so he can jam two fingers between his lips, chest heaving nearly as much as Jamie’s is. It feels like his heart is running a race in his chest, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “I got you, babe, c’mon- ”

It’d be too soon, if Tyler hadn’t already spent so much time playing with Jamie’s hole, slicking and smoothing over the ring of muscle with his tongue until it’s warm and pliant and pink from the attention. But when Tyler rests the tips of his fingers against his hole and pushes Jamie keens, a shiver running through his body that Tyler can feel at every point where they’re connected. He takes it so easily, too; there’s barely any resistance against Tyler’s fingers as Jamie opens up for him, his fingers sinking to the first knuckle as Jamie moans and swears.

And oh _fuck_ , this looks so good, too: the sweeping line of Jamie’s back as he arches, tries to press back on his fingers for more, the way his fingers disappear into the tight heat of Jamie’s body, his hole stretched pink around them. Tyler can’t breathe for a moment for the force of it, the throb of his own neglected cock hanging heavy between his legs. He’s dizzy with the heat of his own want, and he has to breathe a few moments to get a grip on himself.

Jamie. This is about making _Jamie_ feel good. If he gets to see this, gets off on it too - well, it’s a bonus he’s going to take.

By the time Tyler’s sure that he won’t bust a nut in his boxer-briefs from just the sight of Jamie taking two of his fingers, Jamie’s rolling and rocking his hips beneath him, searching for more in the mere inches he can move. Tyler knocks his legs further apart with a gentle push of his shoulder. With the broad weight of his palm he urges Jamie’s left leg to bend up and tuck beneath him, opening him up even further. He’s so open and exposed, so gorgeous like this.

The sounds that come out of Jamie’s mouth sets a fire in Tyler’s gut, when he finally starts to slowly piston his fingers in and out. He builds up a rhythm, slowly at first, but Jamie’s so worked up and so loose from how much he’d used his tongue that it isn’t long until he’s thrusting in and out with momentum, up to the second knuckle. Tyler knows his fingers aren’t as long as Jamie’s are - and _oh_ , is that a thought to come back to later - but clearly it’s working for Jamie. His back and thighs flex as he rocks to meet Tyler’s fingers, the muscles jumping under his skin as he moves. His tattoos look alive, the dark ink rippling as his arms work, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets. God, he looks pornographic, and it’s far past time that Tyler gave him what he knows Jamie needs.

He gets a hand on the meat of Jamie’s ass to pull his cheeks apart; there isn’t a ton of room to do this, but it’s going to be so, _so_ good. Jamie’s hips stutter as he interrupts their rhythm, stilling his fingers as he adjusts his position. It’s only for a few seconds, and he can already hear the groan building in Jamie’s throat at the interruption. With a huff of a laugh Tyler leans in, the grin dissolving from his face as he opens his mouth.

Jamie nearly shouts, his hole clenching around Tyler’s fingers as his tongue makes good work on getting the rim of his hole nice and soaked and wet again. He’s already sloppy-slick from how much Tyler’s tongue has already been on him, shiny and pink, and spit is starting to run and drip down his taint, towards the heavy weight of his balls. Tyler has to get a hand on his hip to still the eager rocking Jamie tries; there’s no way he can keep his mouth on him when he’s pushing back to meet his fingers so desperately. He does his best to make up for it, though; he twists his wrist so that he can get a deeper angle, pistons his fingers in and out and in until Jamie’s shuddering. There are tremors in his thighs, muscles twitching as he rides the sensations, winding tighter and tighter under the attention of Tyler’s mouth and fingers.

He licks and wriggles his tongue with fervor, mouth open wide and panting hotly as he works Jamie as best he can. He’s getting closer; he can feel it in the intensity of Jamie’s straining back and the legs bracketing his shoulders, in the way his moans die off into whines of pleasure more and more. So much of him is gorgeously flushed, gleaming with sweat - he looks better like this than he does fresh out of the shower, in Tyler’s expert opinion.

And Jamie coming out of the shower has become one of his favorite things post-game.

He twists his fingers a little on an inward thrust, pushing through the creep of soreness in his jaw and tongue to keep up the heady rhythm, savoring every grunt and moan that echoes through the room. Fuck, Jamie’s so tight and perfect around him; his mind can’t help but drift to thoughts of a next time, all the things he wants to give Jamie, all the kinds of amazing he could make Jamie feel. He’s gotta make good on the promise of body worship, first and foremost - tonight’s step one in doing that, he supposes. Tyler swallows down a groan in his own throat as Jamie shudders tightly around him, hole convulsing as he gets closer and closer to orgasm.

Fuck, there’s nothing as hot as knowing that you’re making your partner feel so good, bringing them off with hands and teeth and tongue. Tyler gets off on this: knowing that he is the one that’s making Jamie flush down to the middle of his back, writhing serpentine and insatiable with pleasure, going hoarse with how much he can’t control his own voice. He pants into Jamie’s skin, blinking sweat out of his eyes and trying, dizzily, to keep up with what Jamie needs. He’s so close, nearly there, tight-strung like a bow ready to break.

Tyler’s going to get him there. He’s going to give Jamie everything, if he’s lucky enough to get a chance.

It’s part luck and part skill that, as he twists his fingers a little as he trusts in and out, he manages to glance over Jamie’s prostate - and once he’s found the spongy pad of it, he’s sure to rub just so on every stroke. Jamie’s twitching in time with the movement of his fingers before long, his drawn-out groans punctuated by panting.

“Oh, god,” he manages to gasp, the whine in his voice climbing higher. The movement of his hips stutters and jerks out of rhythm, his hole clenching down on Tyler’s fingers and mouth as he tips into orgasm. “Oh - fuck, Ty, _fuck -”_

Jamie comes with an open-mouthed moan, pushing back into Tyler’s face to ride it out as best he can. He’s shuddering all over, his thrusts erratic as his balls draw up and he comes into the sheets underneath him, cock still trapped between his hips and the bed. Shit, fuck - Tyler gasps a groan of his own, squeezing Jamie’s ass hard enough to leave little pink crescent marks from his nails. _Christ_ , he hadn’t even gotten a _hand_ on Jamie’s cock, and -

Under his mouth Jamie’s hole flutters and twitches, his moan turning into a high wine as he gets over-sensitive, trembling with the force of his orgasm. Tyler smiles as he pulls away, beard slick and jaw tired - worth it. He leaves his fingers where they are, though; the hot clutch of Jamie’s body around them, the muscle still rippling and clenching in orgasm, tells him it would be better to wait until he’s fully relaxed. Not that he minds, of course. If this is what Jamie’s like around his fingers, his body gripping and unwilling to let go, he can only imagine what it would be like around his -

Tyler almost takes a knee to the head when Jamie twists, flipping onto his back with a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a groan. His fingers pop free as he flails, trying to keep his balance on the bed as it dips from Jamie’s moving weight, and he ends up with a faceful of Jamie’s damp upper thigh, clammy with sweat and smeared a little with spunk.

“Dude,” Tyler laughs breathlessly, getting both his hands on Jamie’s thick thighs to winch himself upwards - though not as far as into the white pool of jizz across Jamie’s belly, messy in the trail down from his navel from rolling over. Jamie smiles back at him, though there’s still a dazed look in his wide eyes, his chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “ _Jamie_.”

“Yeah,” Jamie finally manages, swallowing thickly. God, his voice sounds so hoarse - it’s a good thing that tomorrow they’re going to be able to blame it on all the shouting from the hat trick. He’s smiling, though, hair falling onto his forehead haphazardly. Jamie doesn’t push it away, though he does rub his hands over his eyes. The tattooed skin of his arms is a beautiful contrast to the red flush down his chest, darker marks from Tyler’s mouth peppered from his neck to his shoulder.

Something warm and soft has taken up residence underneath Tyler’s ribs again, and watching Jamie like this - he can’t bring himself to try to banish the feeling away.

 _Try_ , because, well. He hasn’t felt something as strong as this in a long time.

The silence stretches as they lay there, just trying to breathe. Tyler doesn’t blame Jamie for needing to gather his wits after that - being on the receiving end of rimming usually leaves him cross-eyed, personally. But after a few beats of playing idly with rubbing his beard along the crest of Jamie’s hip to no reaction, he _has_ to look up and say something.

He’s halfway to opening his mouth, preparing some variation on _I’d say I blew your mind, but -_ when their eyes lock again, his heart is suddenly crammed in his throat. Looking up the length of Jamie’s body - by all means messy, a little sloppy, but no less gorgeous in Tyler’s eyes - and meeting Jamie’s gaze nearly punches the breath out of him.

Because Jamie still can’t seem to find the words in his post-orgasmic haze, but his _face_ -

Jamie’s eyes are still a little big, pupils blown wide and dark, but with his lashes half-lowered in post-orgasm stupor he looks - he looks _fond_. There’s just a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, lips quirked and the dimple Tyler’s stupid for barely visible in the dim light. He’s still flushed and shiny with sweat but the corners of his eyes are pulling and crinkling with his smile. It’s nearly the same kind of look that Jamie always gives him, the one that comes right after he makes a stupid joke but before Jamie’s geeky laugh, or when Jamie catches him re-taping his stick for the third time for good luck, or when he catches Tyler nearly asleep on the couch, sandwiched between Marshall and Cash.

“That was amazing,” Jamie finally manages to mumble, reaching out to brush Tyler’s damp curls away from his face, scratching down the line of his jaw to thumb at his mouth. It’s probably obscenely pink, from what he’s been up to - his lips certainly feel a little swollen and over-worked in a good way, though he’d never complain about Jamie’s hands on him now. He’s being pretty gentle, anyways. Jamie’s a considerate Canadian boy like that. “ _You’re_ amazing.”

Tyler’s cheeks burn with his blush, brighter now than they probably were the _entire time_ he had his face in Jamie’s ass. What is he supposed to say to that? His heart’s welling in his chest, overflowing with words he can’t quite bring himself to say - and he doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth and _not_ blurt out the volatile mix of emotions he’s still kinda working through. Tyler’s heart thuds in his ears again, and he clears his throat - god, how transparent can he be? Jamie’s thick - oh, is he ever - but he isn’t stupid. He’s going to figure it out eventually, if Tyler doesn’t _say something_ , c’mon, say _something_ -

“You’re - uh,” he swallows, and it seems safe enough to smile back at Jamie, “you’re pretty great, too.”

They’re kind of grinning at each other ridiculously, but he kind of doesn’t care - they both dissolve into giggles. Tyler tucks his head into Jamie’s thigh and Jamie leans back, sighing as he finally winds down. Tyler feels buoyant, like there’s light filling his chest, and this isn’t exactly where he wants to be - Jamie’s arms look so good, and he just knows they’d feel even better around him, keeping him tucked into Jamie’s chest -

But this isn’t too bad, either.

“A good reward for a hat trick?” he asks, sitting up a little further so he can meet Jamie’s eyes again. Still smiling, Jamie nods - well, as much as he can manage a nod. Apparently getting his ass eaten after a three-goal game sapped most of the energy from his body. “A good change-up from the blowjobs?”

“Yes and _yes,”_ Jamie sighs again, contentedly - and stretches, back bowed against the bed in a way that shows off the breadth of his shoulders, the flexing muscles of his arms. And Tyler’s got a front-row view of his powerful thighs, shifting in front of him sensuously, in a way that makes his dick twitch with interest. “Although I don’t think we’re square yet, seeing as you haven’t come - ”

“But it was _your_ hat trick,” Tyler doesn’t quite whine, because just the mention of Jamie getting him off has sent a surge of blood to his cock. When Jamie tilts his head forward again, though, curling his fingers more firmly along the base of Tyler’s skull - _oh._

He wants this. He may be too spent to show it, but Jamie _definitely_ wants this, in the loose-limbed, post-orgasm way that shouldn’t be as fucking hot as it is. It’s the captain in him, or something; he’s decided that he wants to do this for Tyler, and he isn’t going to let go of it now that he’s set his mind on it.

“It’s not as special if you do me, too,” Tyler adds belatedly, though it sounds like a hollow argument to his own ears, especially now that he’s been reminded of how turned on he is, that he hasn’t gotten off yet. He bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“Well, you’ve given me, uh -” Jamie pauses, reddening adorably, “ _\- that_ , so. What if what I want for my hat trick is your dick in my mouth too, eh?”

Tyler nearly chokes himself on his laugh. “Selfish,” he chides, but he carefully climbs over Jamie’s hip, intentionally brushing over his spent cock as he straddles Jamie’s chest. His cock’s already taking interest again, and Jamie’s big hands come up to wrap around his waist, tug him further up before landing heavily on his ass.

Hey - it’s not like he’s going to say _no_ to this, either. Not when Jamie’s grin has gone coy and sly, and he keeps licking his lips in that way he does. Not when it means getting to spend even more time with Jamie like this, naked and smiling and, briefly, at the center of his world.

Tyler’s not nearly strong enough to say no to all of that. Not on his life.

 

They return home to Dallas.

It’s a little weird, stepping off the plane and onto the tarmac at Love Field. It hasn’t been much more than a week and a half - logically, Tyler knows that - but it feels a little bit like a lifetime.

Maybe that’s what big, emotional-sexual revelations do to a man. Huh. He’s probably really overdue for a good chat with Brownie.

Everyone parts ways at the airport, which is both a relief and just - foreign and lonely. So much time on the road is always great for team bonding - and team morale, when they’re winning like they currently are - but it’s not the same as being in your own home, sleeping in your own bed. Togetherness is both a blessing and a curse, in Tyler’s opinion. Sometimes he doesn’t want to spend that much time looking at the back of Shoresy’s buzzed head, or with Antoine’s particular, French sense of humor.

He does, of course, want to spend more time with Jamie. But it might be for the best that they’re getting a little space from each other.

Tyler really doesn’t know what to think.

He spends the drive home through suburban Dallas lost in thought, not even bothering to turn up the radio like he usually would. Being without Jamie right now, after spending a week at his side, in his bed - it’s kinda like losing a limb. Tyler knows he’s a clingy friend to begin with and that space is like, healthy for relationships and that shit. It’s hard not to miss him, even when he knows he’ll see Jamie in, like, a day and a half at practice.

Maybe it has something to do with the knot of nerves at the base of his stomach, the one that’s twisting itself over and over with the worry that what they had was just something on the road, that they won’t -

But it started in Dallas, even if it just originally followed them to the west coast. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, restless and weirdly on-edge. He’s never felt this way about something that was just buddies before, though he’s already pretty well figured out that for him, at least, this _definitely_ isn’t just buddies. It was so easy to keep up the pattern when they were in each other’s pockets, though. Coming home feels kinda like coming back to reality, and Tyler doesn’t like the drop in his stomach that’s come with it.

He’s pulling into his own driveway before he’s even realized, blinking himself into awareness as he shuts off the truck and goes around back to get out his bag. He’s got a little time to sort his brain out, so he’s going to do his damned best to try.

Tyler owes Jamie that, at least. An honest _try_ at getting the words out, and saying what he actually wants to say.

Jamie’s worth it. He’s worth taking the risk for.

It’s taken _stupidly_ long for him to come to that conclusion - a sleepy, early-morning bus ride he may have spent mostly napping on Jamie’s shoulder, followed by a companionable plane ride with a smiling, upbeat team - but this is it. This is the plan.

Tyler steps up to his front door slightly more settled, the ball of stress in his gut not gone but lessened, sort of contained. It’s enough that his breathing comes easier, feeling less like they’re trapped in his chest. He’s just gotta figure out the rest of it.

And, well. That can maybe wait a little while. It’s hard to stay too wrapped up in your own thoughts when there are three labradors practically barking down the front door in their excitement to see you.

 

Practice before the next home game is so normal it kinda freaks him out.

Frisco’s pretty busy with fans, which isn’t a huge surprise - they’re on a win streak, the season’s going strong, and with the cooler weather everyone’s in the mood for hockey. The short set of bleachers is a sea of green today, not that Tyler pays them much more notice than usual.

He’s got bigger things on his mind, admittedly.

Like he’s been summoned by Tyler’s swirling thoughts, Jamie skates over and rains snow onto his laces with a hard stop, grinning as he leans into the boards at Tyler’s elbow. “Good to be back home, eh? Crowd’s gonna be good tomorrow night.”

“Sure is,” he replies, smiling, though he can feel that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jamie clearly notices, because his own grin falls a bit and that little crease appears between his eyebrows, the one that shows up whenever he’s worried. It shouldn’t be so stupidly adorable.

“Hey,” Jamie nudges him gently in the side, leaning his chin on the hands he has clasped around the end of the stick. “You kinda peaced pretty fast from the plane, are you- ”

“Fourteen! Ninety-one!”

Right. They’re at practice, and rinkside in Frisco probably isn’t the right place to talk out their emotional crises.

Well, at least, _Tyler’s_ emotional crises.

So he pats Jamie’s ass through the layers of his hockey pants, pushes away from the wall so he can join the line for drills. “Get moving, Cap. You don’t want to earn us a bag skate before the game, eh?”

He tops off the chirp with a grin, which somehow only makes Jamie’s brow furrow even more. Damn. He’s really gotta sort this out, figure out what he wants to say - or, rather, _how_ he wants to tell Jamie that he’s sort-of-very in love with him and wants to do something like date him, and not just because they seem to be about as good together at sex as they are at hockey. Which, frankly, is really fucking _good_.

The hockey, that is.

The passing drills and sprints and line rushes take up enough of his concentration and energy that Jamie gets pushed out of his mind for the next hour, at least in a romantic capacity. It’s a relief that they’re still dynamite on the ice, sensing where the other is for drop-passes that make coach cross his arms and smile in that thin way he does, rather than blow his whistle for another try. It feels like it’s mostly for show, anyway. Something about their game right now is _magic_ , and between the fans and the high morale, the upbeat atmosphere of the rink is nearly buzzing.

Despite that, Tyler can’t bring himself to linger after practice. He normally would, especially after the road trip they just had, but Jamie’s finally tied up in a conversation with trainers and _not_ shooting him looks every few minutes, and he’ll take an out when he sees one. He blusters past the fans lined up in the hallway on the other side of the tape barrier waiting for autographs. It makes something pang in his gut to do it, everything about sneaking out to avoid Jamie and skipping out on the fan interaction is bass-ackwards to his usual routine, but it’s suddenly _stifling_.

He’s not running away from this, he’s _not._ He just - he’s caught in this weird limbo, _wanting_ Jamie and wanting to be _around_ Jamie, but totally unsure of how to deal with the storm of feelings that has taken up residence in his chest, wanting to retreat into himself to figure it out. Because he _has_ to tell Jamie; he can’t see a reality where he leaves this trapped in his chest like a cage, but there’s gotta be a better way than laying his heart on the table. Fuck, he doesn’t have a _clue_ if Jamie feels the same, exactly, which -

Man, he kinda wishes Jordie were here. Then at least he’d have a little insider info as to what’s going on in Jamie’s head. Although it _would_ come at the price of admitting to Jordie that he’s more-than-crushing on his little brother, which - maybe it’s a good thing Jordie isn’t around. Tyler’s never met a guy that could so easily cut through his bullshit and see through to the heart of the matter.

He shakes the thought off, ignoring how his fingers can’t keep still in the pocket of his hoodie, rattling his keys as he beats an escape from practice.

Tyler goes with that option: escape. Because it’ll be the easiest to excuse away later. Because he can’t see it going well if Jamie gets to him before he finds half-decent words for what he’s gotta say.

Because his heart’s too close to his throat, and it feels like a time bomb.

 

He doesn’t have any good answers by the time the game comes around.

Tyler did his best to do everything right: plenty of carbs and protein in the morning along with a light workout, taking the dogs for a walk before his pre-game nap. He’d followed his routine to the letter but didn’t really feel any better for it - not when it comes to figuring out what to do about his feelings for Jamie, at least. He tries to ignore the clenching of his stomach as he drives over to Victory Park. For better or worse, though, the real reason they’re here is to play some hockey. And that - that, Tyler can do.

There’s always something special about being back at home after a road trip, the familiarity of the AAC and the pervasive, inescapable _victory green-ness_ of it. It’s the little things, like pulling into the spot he always parks in, knowing the maintenance staff and giving them fist-bumps and high-fives, sitting in a stall that’s _his stall._ All the boys can feel it; there’s a palpable energy crackling in the air. They’re ready to put up a fight at home and _win it_ \- for the fans and for themselves.

Tyler’s enjoying listening to the banter between Elie and Johns when Jamie sits besides him carefully, not interrupting Tyler’s ritual of taping up his socks but - but there, _present_ , at his elbow. A shiver lights up Tyler’s spine, across his bare skin as he finishes up with his socks and pants and reaches for his chest pads. He should probably _acknowledge_ Jamie, it would be weird if he didn’t. Maybe it’s just as weird that he can feel Jamie’s eyes on him as he watches Tyler get ready for the game, just like he has a hundred times before.

It should _probably_ be weird, Jamie watching him like this. The only _weird_ part about it, though, is how the rest of the locker room buzzes and bustles around them with the chatter of the rest of the team and the Shania playlist somebody’s got on low. It’s weird that the world around them keeps moving, when Tyler’s world has narrowed to the five inches of hollow space between them, and how he can slowly feel the bloom of warmth from Jamie’ body starting to fill the void.

“Hey,” Jamie finally says, pitched kind of low and soft, and Tyler looks up.

Even Jamie’s face is schooled, carefully neutral. Well - it _would_ be, maybe to someone else, to the media or whoever he’s trying to bullshit, though that doesn’t happen very often. It’s the little things that stand out to Tyler the most: the crease between his eyebrows and at the corner of his mouth, the way his cheek is starting to dimple - not quite from a smile, not quite like he has something to say, but something else. His mouth is pressed into a line, and somehow that makes the faint scar on his upper lip that much more visible, even though it’s already so faint.

Tyler wants to lean in and kiss it. But -

“Hey,” he replies on an exhale, and it sounds a little breathless. He feels the corners of his own lips twitch upwards in a soft smile.

It’s like with that one word, the spell hanging in the air between them is broken.

Jamie wasn’t really slumping, before, but he must have been unconsciously doing something to make himself smaller, turning inwards - because now he relaxes, unfolds, the tension in his shoulders unraveling. The stress bleeds out of his face, his brow smoothing over and that dimple coming out for real when he gives Tyler a soft half-smile. He can’t help it; Tyler finds himself relaxing in turn, that knot of stress and nerves in his gut unwinding little by little. The ache lessens. The locker room looks a little brighter.

God, beating around this and tiptoeing around Jamie isn’t doing _either_ of them any good. Even if he needs more time, he can’t be denying them _this._ The hockey has always been a good thing, something unquestionably sure and steadfast even when it’s hard work. It’s one of the bedrocks they can rely on.

“So,” he says conversationally, trying to ignore the little flip his stomach does when Jamie immediately looks up, puppy-like, at the sound of his voice. He clears his throat. “The Knights, eh? Think we have a better shot now than we did in October?”

“‘Course we do,” Jamie bats him on the shoulder with the back of his hand, easy and companionable - and there’s a split second where he looks surprised at himself, but when Tyler doesn’t react any more than flashing him a grin, he relaxes again. “Flower’s still out, but Sub’s back in the net - so it’ll be a good game. But I believe in us.”

Tyler feels his smile go a little softer, and ducks his head to lace up his skates as a flush starts to creep onto his cheeks. _God_. He knows it’s the captain thing, but Jamie’s always just - like that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, meeting Jamie’s eyes again as he tugs at the laces to tighten them further. Jamie’s earnest smile blooms even bigger when their gazes lock. “Yeah, me too.”

There’s something so warm and right and balanced between them as they finish gearing up, and the _rightness_ of it offsets some of the anxiousness that’s been fluttering in Tyler’s chest. It’s good - _they’re_ good. Come what may, in this game and after it, but for now it’s easy to fall into their normal patterns. He chirps lightly at Jamie as he snaps his fight strap into place, and he beams at Tyler from over his shoulder - and gives as good as he gets, teasing Tyler as he finishes taping up his socks.

They fist-bump in the locker room as the rest of the team streams out of the locker room and towards the ice for warm-ups; they jump-and-bump halfway through like always. Jamie gives him a nod and a smile as he leaves the ice, knowing Tyler will linger until he’s the last one off, and just like that - just like that the jagged piece settles even further into place, somewhere under his ribs. He lets himself enjoy being in the halo of Jamie’s presence, soaking it up as they make their final pre-game preparations, pressed together side-by-side, thigh-to-thigh.

Vegas plays a good game.

It’s something they’ve heard again and again, as the season goes on: for a newly-established team, the Knights have a pretty great thing going. Even with the goalie situation, they aren’t to be taken lightly.

But the Stars are finally at home, after a stint on the road where they just kept winning and winning. The atmosphere in the AAC is palpably electric, the crowd reacting loudly to everything that happens on the ice.

It’s exhilarating. Between his shifts it’s all Tyler can do to catch his breath, exchange a few words with Jamie or Rads or Shoresy and trying to down as much gatorade as he’s probably sweating out. The Knights are making them work for every possession, every second they get in their zone, but it feels _good_.

They meet Vegas goal-for-goal in the first, coming off the ice for the intermission feeling ready, confident. They’re going toe-to-toe and keeping up just fine - now, it’s just a matter of pulling ahead in the next period. Jamie says as much to anyone within earshot, making sure the guys hear how much they’ve been contributing, how much each and everyone of them is pulling his weight and c’mon, they can _do_ this. Tyler blinks sweat out of his eyes, content to lean back a little in his stall and watch Jamie as he makes a quick round of the locker room, doing his captainly duty.

Tyler still believes him. They’re going to get this one, too. And the guys clearly agree - Spezza and Klinger and Ritchie are all sharing that determined smile, Pitty and Mattias have their heads bent together in fervent, grinning conversation, and Jamie -

Jamie’s eyes find Tyler’s across the room, and _yeah._ That’s what he’s talking about. The hot spark of something in his belly lights a flare all the way up into his chest, and yeah. Yes. _Fuck_ yes, they can do this.

At least that’s what he’s telling himself, his first two shifts on the ice, but then Klinger gets a two-minute minor that puts them on the penalty kill, and they’re down two goals in the next four minutes, and things keep sliding downhill from there.

Every dropped pass, every turnover that forces them to dive back to the Stars zone and put their bodies between the Knights’ shots and the net - it makes Tyler colder and colder, a sensation like ice chips sliding down his spine. This isn’t how this is supposed to be going. They’re a better team than this. They all know it - he can see the frustration playing out on their faces with every shift, rookies and vets alike. Spezza always gets grim and thin-lipped; Devin can’t help that his emotions are so clearly broadcasted on his face. This isn’t good, and the whole team knows it.

He does his best, when he’s on the ice. But try as they might, he and Jamie can’t score every goal just the two of them. Winning faceoffs only does so much, and Tyler’s stomach churns with every smack of rubber against Subban’s pads, every time he pounces, quick like a cat, on the puck and the whistle blows.

Jamie looks about as disappointed as Tyler feels, still determined and doing his best to shout encouragement at the boys both on and off the ice, but it just isn’t working. The Knights score with four minutes left in the second period, and the AAC is preternaturally quiet as they celly, a mass of white and grey and gold.

Tyler hates it. He hates the stupid, smug look on Nealer’s dumb face, he hates the slump of Faksa’s shoulders and the way Pitlick presses his lips together in a grimace, listening and nodding along to whatever Ritchie is saying in attempted encouragement. They should be doing better than this. This isn’t the team that won five straight in a row on the road. _That_ team wouldn’t come back to Dallas and trip over themselves on home ice.

The cold of the rink usually doesn’t bother him, but tonight the sweat running down his sides is cool, and not in a good way. He flexes his stiff fingers in his gloves, watching the play on the ice as the seconds tick down. He’s only got one shift, maybe two, before the period clock runs down and they’re going back down the tunnel, down a point for the first time in almost two weeks.

They don’t tie it up in the second.

Tyler watches, his stomach sinking even further, as Shoresy and Jamie lead the march off the ice and down the tunnel. He’s slow to follow so that he can bring up the rear with Bish, making sure to meet Ben’s eyes and give him a few taps on the helmet. All things considered, his play was just fine this period - it’s not his fault that he can’t play the entire defensive line’s jobs for them. Kari’s waiting at the end of the bench for them as they finally skate off the ice, slinging an arm around Ben’s shoulders as he pulls off his helmet - he clearly had the same idea Tyler did. That’s good, though; they’ve gotta take care of each other, if they want to bounce back in the last twenty minutes of the game.

Speaking of which -

Jamie’s not hard to find, even in a room full of other six-foot hockey players, even when all Tyler can see of him is the back of his head. His hair’s a sweaty mess from his helmet, and the nape of his neck is pink from the exertion of the last shift. It’s - yeah, it’s a good look, but there’s too much pent-up energy under Tyler’s skin, the weight of the game pulling at his stomach, for him to enjoy the view. He leaves Jamie to his serious conversation with Rads and Janmark, heads bent together as Jamie does his captain thing. Jamie’s doing what he needs to do, and even though the thing gnawing at his chest isn’t going away, Tyler doesn’t want to interrupt.

Spezza pats his thigh consolingly when Tyler nearly collapses into his stall next to him. He glances up, and whatever Jason sees on his face makes him grin crookedly and knock their shoulders together. “It’s two goals, Seggy, not a death sentence.”

“Then why does it feel kinda like one?” Tyler mutters with a frown, flipping his stick upside-down and shucking his gloves between his knees so he can pick off the tape and re-apply it. It’s mostly so he has something to do with his hands - and so that he doesn’t have to watch the smile on Jason’s face broaden knowingly, far more upbeat than anyone has the right to be after a period like that. His heart thuds heavily in his chest.

“Maybe it’s a matter of perspective,” Spezz replies cryptically, and Tyler shoots him a look. His stomach’s still knotted up, all the missed shots and intercepted passes from the last period playing over and over in his mind’s eye, and to top it all off he’s still hyper-aware of where Jamie is in the room. He tries his best to ignore the magnetic pull to look at Jamie and see how he’s doing.

Jason catches him at it when Tyler gives in and glances over, of course. God. He forgets sometimes that Jason was a captain once, and has some of that annoyingly accurate captain sixth-sense bullshit when it comes to reading how the other guys are feeling.

He doesn’t like being so transparent but, well. Tyler probably has been pretty transparent about Jamie for a while.

“Well, whatever way you look at it- ” Tyler breaks off to rip the tape with his teeth, carefully smoothing it out as he wraps it around the blade of his stick and definitely _not_ looking Jason in the eye, “ -we’ve got twenty minutes to tie it up and win this thing, or our winning streak’s getting neutered at five games.”

“We’ve done it before,” Jason says easily, his smile still in place, “and we’ve been playing really well lately, eh? Just gotta pick it up, find that groove that worked so well on the roadie.”

Tyler _knows_ what worked well for him on the roadie, but he very well can’t say that to Spezza’s face. He can feel his cheeks start to heat, though, and Jason’s grin only starts to grow wider, so Tyler clears his throat and says, “Yeah?” before he gets himself into more trouble.

It’s a softball line but Jason takes it anyways, doesn’t call Tyler on his shit. Instead, he launches into an easygoing analysis of how each of the lines have been playing, what he’s noticed of the Knights’ PK unit and the cracks in Subban’s defense. Tyler mostly nods along, surveying the room as much as listening to Jason, but almost in spite of himself, something in his chest loosens and lightens. Because, yeah - Jason’s right. They’ve done this before, even if they haven’t been down two goals in the last few games. A comeback win isn’t out of their reach yet. Hell, they put up _so_ many points across all of the lines on their road trip; if they play like they’ve been playing in the last few weeks, two goals is barely an obstacle.

Jason must see it, the way his resolve hardens and the weight on his shoulders starts to lift, because when the horn blares a warning for the end of intermission, he ruffles Tyler’s damp hair with a gloved hand and nods towards the other side of the locker room. “Now that you’ve got your head out of your ass - go talk some of that good sense into your captain, hm?”

He shouldn’t so easily shiver at the thought of _his captain_ , but the words keep ringing in his ears. It’s all he can do to shoot Spezza a raised eyebrow as he stands and stretches, patting Tyler on the shoulder one more time as he joins the line to get back on the ice. Damn. He probably has been pretty obvious, then, if the boys have started to cotton on. Devin gives him a look as he passes by, too. Radulov fucking _winks_ in his direction.

Well - there’s still at least one of them who hasn’t seemed to figure it out.

Jamie’s got one glove tucked under his arm and his stick in his hand, giving out gloved fist-bumps and words of encouragement to the team as the line moves past him and down the tunnel. He’s back-lit by the intense green and white lights, mouth set in a determined line as he meets each and every player’s eyes. He doles out helmet-taps and the confident words the boys need to hear, nodding as they filter past him one by one. Tyler shoves his helmet over his hair and gets in line, shuffling around the Star in the center of the locker room until it’s his turn, until the last green jersey has disappeared down the tunnel and it’s just the two of them and the faraway roar of the crowd.

“Hey,” Tyler says, and Jamie looks up from getting his other glove back on, eyes widening in something a little like surprise. He has to clamp down on the smile that threatens to take over his face, because - well, it’s not _that_ funny, going into a third period down two goals, but Jamie looks - Jamie looks -

Jamie looks about as cautiously wide-eyed as Tyler feels all of a sudden, something in his chest flaring to life as his heart kicks its pace up a notch. His pulse pounds in his ears, and he swallows thickly, taking those last few steps up to Jamie, until they’re an arm’s length apart.

“We can do this,” he says, somehow finding his voice. Because with Jamie’s eyes pinned on him like this, something like cautious hope in those big eyes, he’s suddenly just as lost for words about the game as he is about the _other_ thing he needs to talk to Jamie about. God, _why_ did he listen to Spezza, anyways?

“Yeah?” the corners of Jamie’s lips tilt up in the start of a smile, but it’s subdued, and yeah, Tyler gets it. This isn’t the way he wanted the homecoming after their fantastic roadtrip to end, either. “Gonna give it our best, eh?”

“You know it,” Tyler grins, and Jamie ducks his head, his cheeks starting to go pink. He can tell, from the little crease between Jamie’s eyebrows, that he’s still not quite convinced.

Fuck, _honestly_. Why was doing this with his body just that much easier? When Jamie needed the confidence after the loss, when it was so easy to fall into bed and push each other to be their best - he’d risen to the occasion every time, on and off the ice. But now, just the two of them in their gear, about to take the ice like they do almost every day - Tyler can’t seem to find the words for the bone-deep belief he _knows_ is right, the belief that’s telling him that between the two of them, they can turn this game around.

He licks his lips, heart pounding. It feels like it’s all come down to this one moment - everything between them, winning or losing this game, what happens next.

When he looks at it that way, there’s really only one thing to do. There’s only one thing that he wants to do.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time, and when Jamie’s eyes catch on his Tyler lifts his hand to Jamie’s face. He does it slow enough to telegraph the movement, slow enough that Jamie can put two and two together and move out of the way if he doesn’t want this. But Jamie stills, keeps his eyes trained on Tyler’s face as his palm settles against the soft curve of Jamie’s warm cheek, and Tyler can’t breathe for the force of this.

He leans in.

Jamie’s lips are soft and warm, and feel just as plush and perfect against Tyler’s mouth as he’s always hoped. His eyelids flutter closed as he exhales a sigh through his nose, thumbing across the arch of Jamie’s cheekbone and just - just letting himself _feel_. There’s a faint scratch of stubble where their chins touch, the scent of sweat and whatever stupid product Jamie puts in his hair, and Tyler’s world narrows to the press of their lips together. The roar of the crowd is another world away, muffled and quiet and forgotten; Jamie hums softly in his throat, into the kiss, and the sounds slots into the space in Tyler’s heart. It sounds perfect and _right,_ and it’s his to keep.

They’ve never done this before. For all the times they’ve pressed each other against walls and doors, gotten their hands down each other’s pants and more - this is uncharted territory. This is new.

But it - it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like the next step in this slow dance they’ve been doing around each other, like a puzzle piece that’s been hidden under Tyler’s elbow that he’s finally found to complete the picture. It feels like his heart is an egg, kept warm so long by this thing he couldn’t even put his finger on, and now it’s starting to crack with something bright and soft and golden.

Jamie’s lips move against his, and a noise wells up in him like a sob.

Time stretches as they kiss. Jamie’s lips are a little chapped and the short hair at his nape is damp with sweat when he tangles his fingers in it, but Tyler doesn’t care. Nothing else matters besides this, besides getting to _kiss Jamie -_ and now that he’s done it, he doesn’t ever want to stop.

They have to break apart, of course. The actual buzzer for the end of intermission blares from down the tunnel and their lips separate with a soft, wet sound, reality pushing in like a tide around the edges of - _this_. Tyler still doesn’t have words for it. He opens his eyes without really pulling away, blinking up at Jamie with just a few scant inches between them.

Jamie’s eyes are still closed, his eyelashes dark against his cheek, and it’s a gift he doesn’t deserve, to watch Jamie’s eyes flutter open.

His stomach flips when their gazes meet. Jamie’s eyes are the same chocolate-brown that they’ve always been, but there’s something heartbreakingly fragile in them, something that makes Tyler’s heart clench in sympathy, but also - it’s the same thing caught up in Tyler’s chest, a candle of hope that oh, _god_ , he doesn’t need to snuff out, because Jamie -

Jamie’s gloved hand comes up to cup Tyler’s elbow, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He doesn’t look away. He looks as flushed and wrecked and Tyler feels, but he keeps their eyes locked, unmoving, unerring.

Because Jamie feels this, too.

Tyler licks his lips, a jumble of thoughts ringing in his ears - the loudest of which isn’t even words, just a flood of nameless joy that’s better than anything he’s ever felt, better than the elation of the puck hitting the back of the net. He skims his fingers down from Jamie’s neck to rest over the C - over his heart. “We can do this,” he murmurs, and his own voice sounds hoarse with emotion to his ears.

Jamie put his own gloved hand over Tyler’s on his chest and presses down, until Tyler imagines he can feel the thud of Jamie’s heart against his palm, through the layers of jersey and the hard plastic of his pads. He wishes that Jamie didn’t have his glove on, that he could tangle their shaking fingers together - but this is enough, Jamie trapping his hand against his heart, and trapping his gaze with an intense look that sends a pleasant shiver down Tyler’s spine.

“We’re going to do this,” Jamie says softly, in a voice that’s almost a whisper, and the liquid happiness in Tyler’s heart spills over at the sight of Jamie’s fond, certain smile.

It takes a few more seconds for them to actually step away from each other, out of the bubble they’d created, but they do. Tyler doesn’t really bother fighting his grin, now, and Jamie pats him on the helmet for it as they gather up their sticks and put on their gloves and head down the bright green tunnel.

The third period is mostly a blur. Like, a _good_ blur, but a blur.

Tyler is _achingly_ aware of where Jamie is, more than he usually is - and not just on the ice, during their shifts. The _snap-crack, snap-crack_ of their connecting passes echoes in his ears; he doesn’t have to look, can just make a drop-pass to his wing and Jamie is _there,_ scooping it up before the Knights can get a stick on it. Whatever electric, bright thing that’s happening between them, the rest of the team must be picking up on - because even when the two of them aren’t on the ice, the momentum keeps building, and it’s not long before Spezza slaps one practically from the _blue line_ , holy shit, a shot that rockets over Subban’s shoulder and bounces back out of the net as the goal horn blares.

“One down, one to go!” Spezz hollers as he skates down the bench for congratulatory fist-bumps, meeting Tyler’s eyes when he gets to the end of the line. The whole team’s on their feet, whooping and grinning, but Spezza’s eyes are nearly goddamn _twinkling_. “Am I gonna have to do all the work myself?”

“Not if I beat you to the next one,” Tyler says, and it’s a promise. Jamie shoots him a questioning glance as Spezza nods and pats Tyler on the shoulder, right over the A on his chest. He’s never going to doubt Jason’s team dad abilities ever again.

“Later,” he leans into Jamie, smiling and tapping their helmets together. He doesn’t need to admit that _Jason_ talked him into the best decision he’s made in, like, _months_ while sitting on the bench, surrounded by his teammates. They’d only chirp him for it, anyways. As it is, Jamie’s brow smooths out as he relaxes, shooting Tyler a smile before he turns his attention back to the play on the ice.

Tyler thinks he’s justified in feeling a few butterflies right now.

It comes down to the two of them, as it always seems to happen, as it seems _meant_ to happen, tonight. The Knights have been starting to lose steam in the face of the Stars’ powerful offense in this, the final period, and they barely scrape away with a PK when Nealer’s in the box for slashing.

Tyler collapses onto the bench next to Jamie and leans back, breathing hard. With only a quarter of the period left, it’s starting to feel like _now or never._ Still: there’s a coal burning in Tyler’s chest, a confidence in how they’re finally playing the way that feels good works even better. Power play or not - they’re going to make this happen. He’s always believed in them.

“Next shift out,” he taps Jamie on the thigh with his gloved hand to get his attention. It’s kind of pointless to try to ignore the bloom of warmth in his chest when their eyes meet, and he smiles nearly in spite of himself. Jamie’s already smiling back. “Be ready for that puck, yeah?”

“Always am,” Jamie nudges him with his elbow, grinning. “Always will be.”

Tyler has to duck his head to hide how easily his cheeks turn pink and his smile turns stupidly fond. How is he supposed to _deal,_ with this bright, bubbly thing in his chest?

At least right now he can channel that energy into hockey.

It’s forty seconds into their next shift that he snags the puck away from the Knights in a turnover at center ice, weaving through the defensemen and passing back-and-forth with Klinger once, twice - until Jamie’s had enough time to station himself in front of the net, muscling Schmidt out of the way as best he can with his broad shoulders.

There’s a split-second opening between everyone’s skates, despite the mob converging in Knights’ ice. Tyler zeroes in on path between his stick and Jamie’s, the ice skate-scarred and snowy from all the action it’s seen. It’s a moment that feels longer than it really is; he can feel the pull and stretch of his tired muscles, the burn in his thighs and shoulders as he leans in and winds up, puts some power behind the shot.

Jamie’s true to his word: he’s right there and ready, right where he’s supposed to be.

His slapshot makes a sharp _crack_ where it connects with the puck, sending it slicing through the five-hole and Subban’s white-bright blockers. It disappears into the back of the net and the fans are already on their feet and roaring as the goal horn sounds, like thunder coming down in the AAC.

Tyler crashes into Jamie in front of the net and laughs at the little _oof_ he makes at the impact, both of them sliding a foot backwards from Tyler’s momentum. God, it’s just not _possible_ to get as close to Jamie as he wants to with all of the pads in the way, but they’re cellying on the ice and in front of a crowd, so maybe that’s a good thing. Jamie beams at him, sweaty and happy and practically glowing with it, and it’s all Tyler can do to duck close and tap their helmets together.

“Knew you would,” he grins, and whatever Jamie’s about to say is cut off by Rads sweeping them both up in a hug that sends them reeling again, his toothless smile even broader than Tyler’s.

And, well. It’s impossible to deny the shift in the game after that.

 _One more goal. Just one more._ The words keep echoing in Tyler’s head as he watches the game from the bench, gnawing a little on the cap of his water bottle. He can barely keep still for the energy still coursing through him, the nervous excitement that threatens to bubble over. It’s stronger than he’s felt in a long time, the rush of coming up from underneath to gain the lead and win the game, _just one more-_

Jamie puts a hand on his jiggling knee, stilling it. His hand’s a warm weight, even with the glove on, and when Tyler looks up at him questioningly, Jamie shoots him a small smile.

“Your turn,” he says around his mouthguard, and the warmth in Tyler’s belly flares.

There’s not _that_ much time on the clock - Tyler glances a look; if they don’t do this soon, it’s going into overtime. He’s not sure his heart could take that, not when Jamie keeps glancing at him when he thinks Tyler isn’t looking, which is practically every time they’re on the bench between shifts. No; he wants to win this as much as the rest of the team - probably more - but he’s just as excited at the prospect of what’s coming after.

They’ve gotta wrap this up.

“My turn, eh?” he sets down the bottle and leans back, wiping his hand across his mouth as he meets Jamie’s eyes again. “You gonna give it to me how I like?”

Jamie laughs, bright through the flush on his cheeks. “As long as you know what to do with it,” he says, a bit too garbled to be properly flirty _or_ chirpy. Damn if it doesn't make something in Tyler’s stomach twist anyways. “Need me to show you how again?”

“My dudes,” Devin says, from Tyler’s other side. He’s leaning forward on his knees, cheeks tight from grinning, and he looks somewhere between endlessly amused and dying from second-hand embarrassment. “My dudes, _please.”_

Tyler and Jamie exchange glances, trying and failing to contain their grins. It’s super easy for Tyler to lean his stick against his shoulder and give Shoresy a face-wash with his damp glove without even looking.

“Your father and I were in the middle of a conversation, Mr. Bad Boy,” Tyler says, over Devin’s squawking.

“ _Gross,”_ he whines, but Tyler can hear the grin in his voice as he squirms to avoid Tyler’s attempt at a noogie. “Save the sweet nothings for the celly of that goal you’re supposed to get in the next three minutes.”

Jamie’s still smiling when Tyler finds his eyes again, and yeah - that sounds like a plan.

There are moments in hockey, every once in a while - not every game, though it seems to be happening more and more often, as of late - where time seems to slow to a crawl, and all of the pieces fall into place. Tyler can see it in his mind’s eye, thinking back on some of his best plays; passes that are instinct, shuttling the puck to someone’s tape so they can make the shot; cutting his skates and leaning his weight so that he can pivot as he comes around the net for a backhand.

This time, it happens like this: something about the way Shoresy shifts his weight and dribbles the puck tells Tyler that he’s going to deke past the Knight’s defenseman that’s been dogging him, looking for a green jersey at the center of the ice. He pumps his legs, picks up speed to get there, but he’s a half-second too far when Devin makes the pass, pinned to the boards and sending it a little wide.

The puck rockets left and Tyler’s stomach swoops as Jamie’s _there,_ scooping it up as it ricochets off the boards in a stiff bounce. He makes quick work of weaving through the defense, and Tyler can already see where this is going. He puts on another burst of speed, his legs burning and straining, so late into the game, and he nearly collides with McNabb but he’s there, he makes it it front of the crease just as Jamie looks up to find him.

Jamie’s already winding up his stick to shoot, and Tyler’s already crouched to receive it, to shuttle the puck through the slot between Subban’s blocker and glove. It unfolds on the ice just as he sees it, in his mind’s eye: the puck _cracks_ off of Jamie’s stick and skims across the ice, barely touching, barely making a sound until it connects with the blade of Tyler’s stick. And he’s ready for it, twisting with his elbow and wrist to curve the puck just where it needs to go.

It hits the back of the net and the arena _roars._

Tyler can barely hear over the goal horn and the wave of sound in the AAC, dipping down on one knee to celly as he pumps a fist, shouting with victory. He barely gets a glimpse of Jamie’s beaming face before they collide, Jamie’s chin tucked close to his ear so he can shout his praise, _fuckin’ RIGHT, Seggy, I knew you would-_

He can barely move, once Devin slams into his back and gets an arm around his waist too, a ball of smiles. It’s a look that’s reflected by the entire team when they de-tangle from the celly and skate down the bench. Spezza doesn’t even say anything when Tyler gets to him, but his knowing grin is enough. It’s too bad his reflexes are too good for Tyler to give him a proper facewash with his damp glove.

The second line goes out for the face-off, and Tyler has barely scooted down the bench to make room for Jamie when he leans into Tyler’s space, taps the sides of their helmets together. “Those hands of yours, Segs,” he grins, gives him another _tap-tap_ for good measure. “How many points in the last five games for you now, eh?”

“Points for _you,”_ Tyler corrects him, with as subtle of an elbow as he can manage. He has a feeling that any second now, the jumbotron camera is going to turn towards them on the bench, and he doesn’t need the _entire_ AAC seeing his heart-eyes for Jamie. “Like I would’ve gotten half those goals without you, Bennie. They’ve got your name all over ‘em.”

“Do they, now?” Jamie shouldn’t look, like, _cute_ with his mouthguard mostly out of his mouth, chewing a little at the side of it like he isn’t supposed to. But he’s got that soft smile on his face, even if he’s watching the ice rather than looking at Tyler, and Tyler’s totally helpless to the pleasant flip of his stomach, somewhere south of his heart.

The Knights put up a decent fight in the last two minutes, but as the clock runs down and the window for them to score again gets narrower and narrower, something in their play gives up the ghost. He won’t call it until he sees the clock run to zero, but the buoyant feeling of the impending win makes him unable to sit still, fidgeting with his sticks or his gloves - even when he’s on the ice.

Honka saucers the puck around the boards and down the other end of the ice with three seconds left and that’s it - the buzzer’s sounding and the team is climbing over the boards to get onto the ice, arms raised and shouting. Tyler doesn’t even try to keep the grin on his face as he’s surrounded, practically drowning in green as he gets fistbump after fistbump for the game-winning goal. There’s really no hearing anyone over the noise of the music and the cheering fans - nothing like playing in front of a full house - but everyone’s grinning so hard it seems to hurt and _yes,_ this is the kind of hockey they’re meant to play.

He knows, instinctively, viscerally, when its Jamie’s hand on his shoulder, even before he catches sight of him. They linger a little as the rest of the team forms a line for Bish, catching their breath from the end of the game and all the cellying, just - there, in each other’s space, together.

“Come over, after the game,” Tyler says softly, once they’re side by side and he can meet Jamie’s eyes. Their gaze catches and holds; Jamie dips his head in a little nod, arm flexing across Tyler’s shoulders as he squeezes him into a half-hug.

“We’re both gonna be on the board for post-game,” Jamie warns him, but he’s smiling, and Tyler rolls his eyes. They both _killed_ it, tonight; of course they’re on the hook for interviews. Like that’s ever stopped them from hanging out after a game.

Jamie’s hand jostles off his shoulder when Tyler shrugs, but he doesn’t move away, bumping into Jamie’s side with every subtle movement of their skates. Neither of them stops grinning. “So come over _after.”_

“And the guys are gonna wanna go out with you - with us,” Jamie points out too, which is _true_ , but -

“They’ll survive without us for one night.” Well, probably, at least. Tyler bites his lip, pauses as Lindell skates over for a fist-bump from both of them before continuing. “Besides, I get first dibs.”

Jamie doesn’t even try to hide the amusement from his face. “First dibs on…?”

“ _You,_ dumbass,” Tyler paws ineffectively at the _C_ on Jamie’s chest with his left hand. He doesn’t quite dare look at Jamie’s face, but he can see how his expression changes, out of the corner of his eye. He goes from _gobsmacked_ to pleased and blushing in about half a second, that goddamn dimple making an appearance as he looks at Tyler like - like they snatched a playoff win, or something, and that’s nearly all Tyler’s heart can take.

Jamie smacks his hand away, but not before grabbing it and giving it a squeeze, even through their padded gloves.

Ben looks far, _far_ too too entertained and knowing when they get to him, and Tyler can only guess at what the pair of them look like.

Tyler basically doesn’t remember the interview he gives after the game, slapping some soap around in the shower and not even trying to tame his hair much before getting in front of the cameras. Something something hockey, something something first-line point spread. Yes, he and Jamie Benn have incredible chemistry on the ice. Yes, their win streak - and point streak - is partly from how well they’re doing on the same line together.

He’d really prefer if they finished this interview so they could go home and do something _else_ together.

Okay, even in just his own mind, that sounds far more sexual than Tyler intends. _Talk first._ That part’s important. There’s no way he can keep carrying around this torch in his chest without knowing where Jamie stands. Even if he’s pretty sure, Tyler needs to hear the words.

Good thing his postgame showers run hot enough to justify his flush.

“Don’t worry about waiting for me,” Jamie says, when the cameras are off and the knot of reporters around him has finally dispersed. “I’m gonna be a few more minutes. I’ll see you at home, eh?”

Tyler’s already got his keys in hand, jangling them in the pocket of his hoodie as he fidgets, anxious to leave. “You sure?”

As always, after interviews, Jamie looks a little worn thin - but they won again tonight, so the slump of his shoulders is just tired, not sad. He flashes Tyler a smile that’s relieved, but not a small amount nervous, too. He can tell from the way it doesn’t totally crease the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, man. Go take care of the dogs and I’ll be right behind you.”

It takes a moment for Tyler to swallow around the sudden fond tightness in his throat, but he manages to get himself together to reply, “Yeah, cool, I’ll - yeah, see you soon.”

Yeah, totally smooth. Jamie’s smile _does_ crease and dimple, at that, and Tyler swats his ass on the way out for good measure.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Devin chirps as Tyler walks past, smirking all the while. Tyler raises his eyebrows.

It’s his god-given duty as Alternate Captain to give Shoresy a noogie before he leaves.

 

It’s a good thing Tyler has the dogs to distract him. He does actually need to let them out and make sure they’re all set for the night - but it’s also something to do so that he isn’t looking at his watch or fiddling with his phone every thirty seconds.

Jesus, anticipation before sex can be hot, but waiting for Jamie to arrive on his front step so that the can talk is _excruciating_.

He watches as the boys sniff around the yard in the dim light, willing his stomach to settle. There’s nothing for it; he’s going to be nervous, a live wire, until Jamie shows up. And probably also after Jamie shows up. Tyler pulls off his hat so he can run his fingers through his hair - it’s starting to get long - and tries to remind himself that Jamie _kissed him back._ He isn’t going into this as blind as he thought he’d be, last week.

Doesn’t help that he’s nervous enough that his heart seems to be trying to hammer its way out of his chest, in any case.

A cool, damp nose at his calf shakes him from his thoughts - Marshall looks up at him and wags his tail when he’s gotten Tyler’s attention, butting his nose against his fingers. Tyler scratches through the short brown fur at the crown of his head, just between his ears. Marshall’s a mature boy, compared to Gerry, and even Cash - he’s always the one back to the door first for Tyler’s attention. And he deserves it, for coming right to his side again when he’s finished his business.

Marshall sighs happily as Tyler moves his fingers into the fur underneath his collar, leaning more of his weight against Tyler’s thigh. His tail slaps at the pane of the sliding door, thumping joyfully. Man, dogs are the best. You never have to guess where you stand with them.

He has to whistle to get Cash’s attention, and Gerry follows once Cash starts to lope towards the open door, ears perked at the possibility of a treat. Marshall’s paws are already clicking on the kitchen tile by the time he can herd the other two inside, smiling at their antics - Gerry’s a little shit with too much energy, still, nipping at Cash to get him to play. But they know what usually comes after going out, too, and abandon him just inside the door to head for the kitchen, too.

It’s Cash’s raised ears and the soft, huffing _woof_ from Marshall already in the kitchen that tells Tyler that he isn’t alone. Well - that and Jamie’s bent silhouette, once he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

Tyler’s stomach does something more complicated than a flip.

Jamie’s crouched down to dog-level so that he can rub Gerry’s stomach and Marshall’s ears at the same time, murmuring softly to them both. It’s too quiet for Tyler to hear but Cash knows dog-voice when he hears it, trotting over to stick his damp nose against the base skin of Jamie’s neck, snuffling anywhere he can reach. Tyler chuckles when Jamie flinches back from the cool touch - and Jamie pivots, then, looking over his shoulder to catch sight of him.

The smile that blooms on Jamie’s face just - just lights him up from the inside, and Tyler’s throat tightens from the sudden force of the fierce _happiness_ in his chest. Of course Jamie just let himself into his house; he’s done that with pretty much all the parts of Tyler’s life.

Tyler had given him a key.

“Hey,” Jamie says, giving Gerry one last pat on the belly before rising from his crouch to stand. Gerry whines a little and scrabbles to his feet to lick at Jamie’s fingers - now within his reach, now that he’s so big - and Tyler’s mouth twists into a smile. None of them can help it around Jamie, apparently.

Jamie just smiles, softly. And Tyler’s feet - of their own accord - shuffle closer, until he can smell the warm, clean scent of post-shower Jamie, until he’s close enough to reach out and touch.

“Hey,” Tyler exhales, trying to relax his shoulders and desperately hoping that he isn’t projecting the bone-deep nervousness that’s making fine tremors run down legs, all the way to his toes. He tenses his knees, prevents himself from bouncing his leg. He can’t seem to stay still, not when the truth is threatening to spill over and out of him. “Good game tonight - I mean, what a game, eh?”

“What a game,” Jamie repeats, grinning and shaking his head - showing off the pleased dimple of his cheek. “Didn’t want to doubt us, but for a bit there I wasn’t sure we were going to be able to pull off another win.”

Tyler bites the inside of his cheek to stop the reflexive joke about _pulling off,_ because - because he’s an adult, and he’s trying to have a serious conversation with Jamie, dammit. It’s just as easy to raise his eyebrows at him, feigning skepticism. “Doubting _us?_ The dream team? Doesn’t sound like you, Jameson.”

“Well,” Jamie draws the word out, head ducking as he reaches one and back to scratch at the short hairs at the back of his head - though it doesn’t really hide the way his cheeks and ears are starting to heat, “I guess my head wasn’t in the right place. You set me straight, though - uh. With that kiss.”

He looks up, then - and whether Tyler wanted to or not, he can’t break away from Jamie’s gaze now. There’s an open, honest intensity in his eyes - unflinching in the face of the truth, no matter how hard it is for Jamie - soft-spoken, media-shy, his best friend _Jamie -_ to finally acknowledge this thing happening between them. Tyler’s drawn into those eyes like a moth to a flame, and he doesn’t even realize he’s taken another step forward until his fingertips are brushing the soft fabric of Jamie’s sweats, the damp heat of Jamie’s palms.

Tyler has to tilt his chin up, just barely, to keep Jamie’s gaze, and from his close he can feel the hitch in Jamie’s breath when he licks his lips.

“I - you have to know,” Tyler murmurs, “you have to know how much I wanted to, how much it means to me.” _How much_ you _mean to me._

Jamie blinks, brows creasing as he starts to frown. “I mean, we’ve been doing this for a while, it wasn’t like I couldn’t tell you w- ”

“No, not-” Tyler huffs, his hands fluttering in the air - _god,_ Jamie, come _on._ He can’t take the nervous energy, still dancing around the issue like - like this isn’t the best thing to have happened to him since the trade to Dallas. There’s no way Jamie doesn’t - he kissed Tyler _back._ Jamie kissed Tyler back.

Some kind of switch flips inside him and he goes for broke, settles his hands on Jamie’s shoulders and smooths up the planes of his skin, until he’s cupping Jamie’s face with both hands. He’s warm underneath Tyler’s fingers - so warm, the beat of his heart thumping somewhere underneath the heel of Tyler’s palm. Jamie’s pulse is pounding nearly as hard as Tyler’s is.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” Tyler swallows, “I want to kiss you when we’re winning and when we lose, when you need me to prove something and just - just because I _can._ I want to - fuck, I want to hold your hand around town and suck you off on the couch and buy you pizza. I want every goal I score to be off your assists, I want to have to sit weird on the plane because you fall asleep on my shoulder, even though you snore- ”

“Hey,” Jamie protests, weakly, but his eyes are shining a little wetly and he’s got that close-mouthed smile, barely-contained smile on his face, so Tyler pushes forward.

“- and, fucking, chirp the hell out of your awful hair, and I’ll die a happy man if I could kiss you every minute, every hour, every d- ”

Jamie kisses him.

It’s nothing like the first kiss - all stolen-moment hesitancy turned yearning and desperate, bittersweet in that it was all that Tyler wanted but hadn’t allowed himself to have. Jamie’s tongue is there from the start and Tyler opens to let him in easier than breathing, lips slick and messy and moving against each other with a passion that’s more like joy. _Fuck, yes._ This is what he wants: to learn all of Jamie’s kisses, to lose count of how many times their lips meet on any given day, in any given moment - he would _drown_ in this, this bubbly, consuming happiness, tangled together and never letting go.

At some point he’d pulled Jamie even closer, hands still framed around his strong jaw, and their kiss finally slows as he stumbles into Tyler, catching his hands on his hips. It gets lingering and sweet, no less intense for all that they twine together, ignoring the need to breathe as long as they can. When they finally part Tyler rests his forehead against Jamie’s, eyes closed as he tries to catch his breath. God, just - _Jamie._

“Did you- ” Jamie giggles breathlessly, “Did you just quote _The Darkness_ lyrics at me?”

“Shut up,” Tyler whines, and kisses him again, even though they’re both laughing. He’s gonna get Jamie all rubbed raw and pink with beard burn, until it’s obvious _tomorrow_ that they’ve been doing some serious making out. _Hell_ yes.

“I can’t believe that you didn’t see it though,” Jamie tells him when they part for air again, lips making a nearly-obscene, wet smack audible over the hum of the refrigerator.

“See what?”

Jamie pulls away enough that he can look Tyler in the eye, and he finds himself on the end of a pretty incredulous stare, combined with Confused Jamie eyebrows. “How into you I am?”

Tyler’s chest is fit to burst with the fizzy, bright happiness that keeps filling it. His face is going to hurt from smiling, even more than Jamie’s is going to hurt from beard burn. He can’t help but smirk a little at that. “Yeah? You’re into this?”

“You know that I don’t really do casual,” Jamie huffs, his blush deepening. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted more than - uh, the obvious, so it was easier just to go along with it until we didn’t win, or whatever. It started as a superstition thing, anyways. But fuck, Tyler. When you kissed me at intermission I thought I was dreaming - aside from being in the middle of losing a hockey game.”

“We didn’t lose,” Tyler reminds him, and he’s rewarded with Jamie’s beaming smile, the fingers that are not-so-sneaking up the hem of his shirt flexing against his hips, “and we may not have had any _superstitious action_ before that game, but I’m not one to break our tradition of horizontal cellying _afterwards.”_

Jamie laughs, and from where they’re pressed together, Tyler can feel the sound of it resonating in Jamie’s chest. He bends to press his mouth against the side of Tyler’s neck, laughter still rumbling in his throat. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, the words muffled into Tyler’s skin. “What happened to wanting to kiss me forever and shit? _That_ was romantic.”

“Hey, first one and then the other,” Tyler waggles his eyebrows, shifting to the side so that he can lean up against the kitchen island, still delightfully wrapped in the six-foot-two octopus that is Jamie Benn. Neither of them, apparently, have plans to let go anytime soon. “You get the best of both worlds when you’re dating _me._ ”

It’s a reflex, to nearly bite his own tongue when the word slips out - but Jamie loosens his hold enough to take a half-step back and meet his eyes again, looking amused and _fond_. It’s a look Tyler’s seen before, especially in the last few weeks, though he hadn’t dared to put a name to it before. Which - huh. It’s a really familiar look on Jamie’s face, actually. “Dating, eh? That’s what’s going to happen?”

“I’m gonna date the fuck out of you,” Tyler promises, and escapes Jamie’s grip long enough to hop up onto the counter and spread his thighs, making grabby-hands for Jamie to come stand between them. Jamie rolls his eyes - like it’s an invitation he’s going to fucking _refuse_ \- and steps back into the circle of Tyler’s arms, knitting his fingers together at the base of Tyler’s spine. And, _oh -_ this isn’t in a position they’ve been in before. Points to T. Seguin for _this_ fan-fuckin’-tastic idea. “Just you wait, Bennie. _Boyfriends._ Going out on _dates._ Tonight, though,” Tyler makes a bit of a show of licking his lips, grinning at Jamie’s look of exasperation and anticipation, “we’re going to make out like teenagers in the kitchen until we can’t feel our faces, and then get our celly on - oooh, maybe I’ll let you _score_ in the _five-hole- ”_

“Shut up, oh my god,” Jamie groans, but he’s smiling

“Make me,” Tyler says, unable to keep the grin of absolute _delight_ off his face, because they’re both competitive enough that he knows _exactly_ where this is going.

Jamie leans in and kisses the grin off his face.

That’s a win, in Tyler’s books.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as [venvephe](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/), but for hockey shenanigans and Bennguin feelings, find me at [tigerseguin91](http://tigerseguin91.tumblr.com)!


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